The Scar That Freed My Soul

To force my husband to sign the divorce papers, I had to press a blade against my own neck until I bled.

He was hesitating because he didn't want a scandal, even though he had just watched his mistress push me down the stairs, killing our unborn child.

While I lay bleeding on the floor, Calvin didn't call an ambulance for me; he comforted her because she was "scared."

I walked away with a jagged scar and a broken soul, leaving them to their stolen happiness.

Five years later, at a party, the game "Never Have I Ever" brought everything crashing back.

Calvin looked at me with haunted eyes, ignoring his now-wife Brea, and whispered, "I made a mistake. I want you back."

Brea went ballistic, screaming that I was the home-wrecker, and tried to attack me again in a jealous rage.

But this time, I wasn't the victim.

I turned to my handsome neighbor, Derek, and closed the door on Calvin's pleading face.

The next morning, a headline flashed on my phone: "Tech Mogul Calvin Bishop Stabbed to Death by Wife in Police Station."

I touched the scar on my neck and finally smiled.

Karma didn't just knock; she kicked the door down.