Till Death Do Us Part, Indeed

My husband, Augustine, was a serial cheater, and I was a terminally ill artist.

His mistress didn't just steal my marriage; she publicly flaunted it, taunting me at every turn.

The final blow came when they desecrated the sculpture I made for my dead mother, laughing as they defiled my most sacred memory.

He used my childhood trauma to break me, freezing my assets, destroying my career, and trapping me in our home like a prisoner.

He had promised to be my safe harbor, but instead, he became the monster who weaponized my deepest pain.

But my cancer gave me a deadline and a dark purpose.