I’ve Been Sick of You Since Our Wedding Night! You Disgust Me! Leave Me Alone!” My Husband Declared on Our Anniversary

**Diary Entry 14th June**

*”Ive been sick of you since our wedding night! You disgust me! Leave me alone!”* My husband declared those words on our second anniversaryright in front of everyone.

Id spent weeks planning the perfect evening. Not just any restaurant, but somewhere unforgettablea place where every detail would make the night special. Eventually, I chose *The Gilded Swan*, a new venue in an old Georgian townhouse with stained glass and antique chandeliers.

Oliver had wrinkled his nose when I showed him the photos. *”Why the fuss? We couldve just gone somewhere quiet. Who needs all this pretentious nonsense?”* But I insisted. Sixty guests, a live quartet, a toastmasterafter the car accident six months ago, I needed something bright, something to remind me life was still worth celebrating.

The preparations took weeks. I checked every detailthe menu, the seating plan, the guest favours. Maybe it was the first big event since Id left the hospital. Or maybe I just wanted this anniversary to be perfect in every way.

I smoothed the folds of my emerald-green dress and glanced at the clock. Guests would arrive any minute. Oliver stood by the window, staring blankly at the street, his reflection tense in the glass.

*”Whats on your mind?”* I asked, stepping closer.

*”Nothing,”* he muttered, shrugging. *”Just hate these things. All this effort for show.”*

I bit my tongue. Two years of marriage had taught me when to ignore his jabs. Tonight wasnt the night to react.

My parents arrived first. Dad, ever dapper in his tailored suit, kissed my cheek. Mumwearing a blush-pink dress that suited her perfectlypulled me into a tight embrace. *”Oh, darling, Im so glad youre here. After the accident I nearly lost my mind.”*

*”Mum, not tonight,”* I said gently. *”We agreedonly happy thoughts.”*

Colleagues from Dads firm (where Oliver and I both worked), friends, distant relativesthey all trickled in. I smiled, but my eyes kept flicking to Oliver, nursing a whiskey in the corner. Odd. He rarely drank.

Eleanor Whitmore, head of accounts, greeted me with a strained smile. *”Charlotte, you look radiant! Especially after well, you know.”*

*”Thank you,”* I replied, ignoring the unease in her gaze.

The evening unfoldedtoasts, music, laughter. From the outside, it looked flawless. But the tension coiled tighter with every minute. Oliver lurked on the periphery, exchanging furtive glances with Eleanor.

*”Dance with me?”* I asked him during our wedding song.

*”Not now,”* he snapped. *”I said Im not in the mood.”*

*”Oliver, whats wrong?”*

*”Nothings wrong. Just leave me alone!”* His voice rose sharply. The music cut out. And in the sudden silence, his words rang like a gunshot:

*”Ive been sick of you since our wedding night! You disgust me!”*

The room froze. Then, with a flick of my hand, the lights dimmed. The screen behind us lit upgrainy footage from the hospital three months prior.

There I was, unconscious, machines keeping me alive. And there they were: Oliver and Eleanor, whispering by my bedside.

*”She wont wake up,”* Olivers voice hissed from the recording. *”Doctors said shes got no chance.”*

Thenthe kiss. Greedy, shameless, while I lay inches away.

The gasps were deafening. Mum nearly lunged at Oliver before Dad held her back. Eleanor bolted for the door, only to find security blocking her exit.

*”This isnt what it looks like!”* Oliver blustered.

*”Really?”* I stepped forward. *”Planning my inheritance while I was dying? Or was it the affair *before* our wedding? Or”* I paused, *”the accident you insisted we take that road for?”*

Eleanors hands shook. Olivers face turned to stone.

*”Youll regret this,”* he spat before storming out.

*”No,”* I whispered. *”You will.”*

Three months later, the police closed the case. *”Insufficient evidence,”* the inspector said. But the consequences were real. Oliver and Eleanor were sacked. Dads connections ensured no firm in London would touch them.

Oliver came begging once. *”Charlotte, lets talk”*

*”The divorce papers will arrive soon,”* I said, shutting the door.

Eleanor vanishedrumour said she fled to Edinburgh. Oliver lingered, desperate, until he too disappeared.

Last night, I caught my reflection and smiled. Not from pain, not from spite. From hope.

The divorce hearing is next week. And for the first time in years, I feel light.