The video flickered, a grotesque dance of betrayal playing out on my screen. Mark, my husband, naked and thrusting, intertwined with Bella, my own sister. Disgust churned in my stomach, each lustful moan a fresh stab to my heart.

“Do you treat my sister like this in bed too?” Bella’s voice, saccharine and smug, cut through the sounds of their climax.

Mark’s reply was a brutal blow. “Don’t mention her. I haven’t even kissed her, she can’t compare to you at all.”

I angrily pressed pause, the image of them rolling together again burning into my mind. Bella wanted me to know she still had him. Three years ago, I was forced into this marriage, a stand-in bride for a runaway sister. Eighteen years I’d searched for my family, only to find indifference and a life stolen.

Now, I was done. I flung the phone onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. Enough. By the time Mark returned, late into the night, I was waiting. The familiar scent of him, and Bella, clung to him.

“I want a divorce,” I said, the words echoing in the sudden silence of the living room. His incredulous look was almost comical. He thought I was seeking attention. He thought I was nothing without him. But he was wrong. So very wrong.

“I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement,” I stated calmly, pulling the wedding ring from my finger and placing it on the table. It was time.