I stared at the word divorce on the paper, unable to understand what was happening—and even worse, why it was my sister handing me those documents.

"I know this is a lot to take in," my sister said when I didn't respond.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Karen looked at me with pity, a look I knew very well. She always used it whenever she thought I was too naïve, too optimistic, or too slow to understand things.

"No, Belle, it's not a joke. Carl and I fell in love. It just happened. And it isn't fair to you. That's why he's asking for a divorce. We intend to get married," she said calmly, almost indifferently, as if marrying my husband was no different from changing clothes.

"I want to talk to Carl," I said, standing up and grabbing my phone, my hands trembling. "This has to be some kind of sick joke."

"What for, Belle? It'll only cause more suffering," she continued in that fake sweet voice that had always irritated me.

"It's Isabelle! Did you hear me? Isabelle!"

"There's no need to shout. I'm trying to help. He's suffering a lot because of this too, but we can't control our hearts, and we don't want to deceive you."

"Help? You're standing in my house telling me my husband wants a divorce so he can marry you, my sister. And you think you're helping me?"

"I'm trying to make this easier. It doesn't have to be painful and difficult..."

"Since when? Since when has this been going on?"

"It's recent. I wanted to tell you from the beginning, but you were in a fragile state. You're my sister, my only family, and this is a very difficult situation."

Karen spoke with teary eyes, and I had no idea how she could be so cynical and manipulative.

Carl wasn't answering his phone, but he wasn't getting away that easily. Karen was sitting in my living room holding divorce papers. The nerve of them.

I left her talking to herself, grabbed my purse, and stormed out.

We had been married for five years. He couldn't do this to me without even looking me in the eye. A marriage couldn't just be thrown in the trash because of an affair with some shameless woman—and that was exactly what my sister was. I had known it for a long time.

The office was close to home, and somehow I managed to drive there without crashing the car. But the moment I got out, the security guard blocked my entrance.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Woods said I'm not allowed to let you upstairs."

"What? I'm the owner of this company! Who does he think he is to stop me from going up there?" I shouted, feeling my patience turn into pure lava.

"I'm sorry, but those are orders."

"Orders from who? He is going to talk to me. Carl! You bastard! Come down here and face me like a man! You want to replace me with my sister? Fine! But do it looking me in the eye!" I screamed at the top of my lungs while the stunned security guard continued blocking my way.

"Isabelle, what do you think you're doing? Do you really think this will solve anything?" Karen had followed me there.

"Karen, don't talk to me or I'll smash your face in!" I lunged at her.

"You can't do that. I'm pregnant," she said fearfully, placing a hand over her still-flat stomach.

I stared at my sister in shock.

The world spun around me.

This couldn't be happening.

I had been trying to get pregnant for years... and suddenly my sister was pregnant, saying she was going to marry my husband… the man I loved and who swore he loved me back.

Karen took advantage of my stunned silence and hurried past the security guard. Carl never came down, even though I was certain he had heard every word I screamed.

"Go home, Isabelle. It's better if you calm down," Karen said with a smile before turning around and stepping into the elevator.

I wanted to keep screaming, but the news about the pregnancy had shattered me. I felt completely lost.

I called Carl again, but this time the phone didn't even ring.

I got back into the car.

I needed to go home, clear my head, understand what was happening.

But the images kept haunting me—my sister saying she was pregnant, her hands over her stomach, and the divorce papers in her hand.

I drove back home trying to organize my thoughts and understand how everything had fallen apart so completely.

But when I stopped in front of the automatic gate, it didn't open.

And then I was informed that I was forbidden from entering.

"The house is mine! He can't stop me from entering my own house!" I shouted at the intercom.

But apparently, he could.

The police arrived and threatened to remove me by force.

With nowhere else to go and nothing but the clothes on my back, I went to my aunt's house, the only family I had left.

"Isabelle! I was just about to call you!" my cousin said the moment she saw me pull up by the sidewalk.

I didn't even know how to explain what had happened, but I didn't need to.

Camille already knew.

All of my belongings had been sent to my aunt's house.

In the living room, there were boxes filled with my clothes and personal things, tossed around carelessly. My aunt, one hand pressed to her chest, kept asking me to stay calm.

I had been thrown out of my own home.

And it was there, staring at those boxes, that I finally broke down crying.

Everything felt too surreal, but seeing my belongings piled up like trash hit me straight in the heart. The memory of Karen saying she was pregnant, that she was in love with Carl... it was too much.

I cried from humiliation, from being deceived by the man I had sworn to love, the man I believed was the love of my life and who I thought loved me too.

My cousin hugged me, trying to comfort me, but I was drowning in my tears, numb to any consolation.

"Drink some water," she said, handing me a glass.

Camille helped me drink because my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Little by little, I calmed down until drowsiness overtook me, and I lost consciousness, escaping the pain for a little while.