Stolen Love

Chapter One

Mia

"Look at me, please," he pleaded.

I sat quietly, tears flowing as the agony of his betrayal stabbed my heart. I couldn't find the words to satisfy his treachery.

I couldn't bear this any longer. Seven years of what exactly? Was it due to his infidelity, or was our commitment meaningless? We were meant to be vowed to each other.

My mind was in disarray. I was too wounded and wished I wasn't brought back into this reality or be reminded. I hated feeling this way.

As he continued to ramble, I tuned him out, engulfed in my thoughts. No, he doesn't have the right to do this.

"I was drunk, and she - the next thing I knew, she was naked next to me!" he stammered.

I suspected Jarrod had something to do with the shiner he was sporting. I pitied him, but it wasn't enough for me to forgive him. Yes, I loved him, but right now, I was in pain.

He had promised to be my first in everything. No pun intended.

These irrational thoughts were overwhelming. I refused to shed more tears over this. Was I going to change my mind? No. I wasn't. So, I stood up with my hands at my sides.

"You've brought this upon yourself, Ashton," I uttered calmly, gazing into his once captivating eyes.

I didn't even recognize my own voice as I spoke; I wasn't afraid, though. I had just had enough. I wanted this conversation to end and to get the hell away from him.

Heading to the closet, I retrieved the bright yellow suitcase I used six years ago for traveling. I recalled buying it at the airport before our honeymoon, and I had adored it. But now, it seemed like an ugly suitcase. It would only make my walk of shame even more brutal than it already was.

I carelessly tossed the suitcase on the bed, my movements hurried and angry, as I gathered my belongings from the closet.

I had no intention of shedding another tear for him. My eyes were somewhat blurry, but I had little time or effort left to engage with Ashton.

"Princess," he sobbed.

I ignored him, feeling completely numb. I zipped my suitcase shut, finalizing my decision.

"Please, I'm begging you," he pleaded after a pause. "It was a mistake. She was just a mistake."

This was it.

"Ashton," I said.

I picked up my suitcase from the bed and started towards the bedroom door. He followed, standing in front of me, blocking my path. I met his eyes with determination.

"We're done," I declared.

I watched as he crumbled, begging, dropping to his knees, shoulders hunched forward as he sobbed like a child. If it were any other situation, I would have comforted him, whispered soothing words until he was okay. But now, I simply wanted to leave.

I didn't want to look at him. The floor seemed more interesting, but as I glanced down, a glimmer caught my eye around the golden band on my finger. I sighed, gently removing my wedding ring, and tossed it on the rug in front of him. His head shot up, a pained expression on his face.

"Please don't do this, I love you," he managed to choke out through his sobs.

I didn't regret what we had because it was a beautiful love, my first love. But now, I needed to walk away. Without hesitation, I turned away from him, leaving the bedroom. I bumped my suitcase into every wall on the way down the stairs, trying to hurry.

Upon reaching the front door, I grabbed my keys and handbag, slinging it over my shoulder.
Looking back where I left him.

Goodbye, Ashton.

My hands trembled as I pressed the central locking button to unlock my car. I hastily threw my suitcase into the trunk and slid into the driver's seat. It was over. I released a held breath and took another gulp of air, determined not to succumb to tears. All my feelings tried to resurface, but I wouldn't allow it, or else I might run back inside and forgive him. I peeled out of the driveway as if in a high-speed pursuit, driving away without a second glance.

Where was I going? I didn't know.

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Ashton and I tied the knot at a young age, precisely at 18, right after we finished high school. We started our relationship when I was 15. He was a year older and a prominent figure in our school's rugby team. He was popular, particularly among girls, but didn't acknowledge their attention due to his unawareness of his own attractiveness. On the other hand, I was the new student from the South, often immersed in books or involved in school assessments on the sports field, earning me the title of the school's nerd.

Every teenage girl had her social group, indulging in teenage drama, boys, and gossiping about relationships. Meanwhile, they would have their moments applying dollar store lip gloss that smelled of strawberries and shimmered like a freshly polished floor. I couldn't relate to that at all. I preferred the company of books and embraced tranquility.

Memories transported me back to our first encounter. I was engrossed in my English essay rubrics when a ball unexpectedly landed in my lap. I looked around the field, drowning out the surrounding noise, and found the football team practicing. I sighed, anticipating a futile conversation with some dim-witted guy with acne and remnants of this mornings sandwich in his braces. Little did I know, I was in for a surprise. As I looked up, I laid eyes on Ashton for the first time. Even though I had been at the school for two months, I don't recall ever noticing him before. Not that I paid attention to anyone. But astonishingly, he was as stunning then as he is now.

His golden hair bounced with each step he took, and as our eyes met, his piercing blue eyes enthralled me in ways I had never imagined. I noticed his flushed cheeks, likely from chasing the ball, the same ball now in my hands, and the overpowering scent of deodorant he used in an attempt to mask his sweat. It overwhelmed my senses, even those I didn't realize I had.

"Thanks, you're the new girl, right? Mia? I'm Ashton."

His flawlessly aligned teeth shone brightly as he flashed a lazy yet beautiful smile at me. Nervousness consumed me, making me feel like I could vomit on his shoes at any given moment. So, I simply nodded while tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear.

He stood there for a while, gazing at me. I knew he wanted to say something more. I could sense his unease as he nervously bounced on the balls of his feet. My face grew hotter with each passing second, and I was certain it had turned as red as a tomato. To avoid embarrassment, I decided to immerse myself in my work, pretending he wasn't even there.

Following that incident, our encounters became more frequent. It felt like he was deliberately seeking me out. I didn't mind, though, as I wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see me.

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