Goodbye To The Man Who Betrayed Us _ Novel

Goodbye To The Man Who Betrayed Us _ Novel

Goodbye To The Man Who Betrayed Us _ Novel

**Goodbye To The Man Who Betrayed Us _ Novel**

Goodbye To The Man Who Betrayed Us Chapter 01

Marissa’s POV

When my daughter Ayana’s cornea transplant was canceled for the third time, I didn’t even cry. I was just numb.

My husband Tyrese Frampton’s assistant stood in front of me, delivering the update in a flat, matter-of-fact tone — as if what’d been taken away was nothing more than a batch of mass-produced toys.

“Mr. Frampton said he’ll get another pair of corneas for Miss Ayana next time,” the assistant said flatly. “He’s giving this pair to Ms. Haywood. He said his stepmother needs them more.”

I stood frozen in place, my blood turning ice-cold.

I was totally unable to speak, my hollow gaze fixed on his moving lips.

Three days ago, my mom was killed in a hit-and-run.

The driver turned out to be Tyrese’s young stepmother, Belinda Haywood.

In her final moments, my mom had told me, “Give my corneas to Aya. She’s so young. She deserves to see again.”

Those were her dying wishes.

The absolute last words she ever spoke.

And how did Tyrese react?

After the hospital confirmed my mom was gone, he never called or texted me.

Instead, he threw himself into hiring a defense attorney for Belinda and searching for a scapegoat to take the blame.

He stayed glued to Belinda’s side, constantly checking in on her and catering to her every need.

Outside the OR, Ayana tried to walk toward me. She reached out her little hands, blind and helpless. Then, she tripped and slammed onto the floor.

I rushed over to scoop her up, catching the not-so-subtle whispers of the people standing nearby.

“That poor little girl. She’s waited for a cornea transplant three times this year, and every single one fell through.”

“I heard those corneas belonged to her grandmother, but Mr. Frampton gave them to Ms. Haywood.”

“Mr. Frampton pays an awful lot of attention to his young stepmother. I wonder if his dad gets jealous.”

I hugged Ayana tight, burying my face in her hair. Rage and disgust burned in my throat.

Then I looked up and asked her, keeping my voice steady, “Aya, do you want to leave San Francisco with me? We can go somewhere your dad can’t find us and just wait for the next donor out there. How does that sound?”

Tyrese walked up to us just as the words left my mouth; his face clouded over.

“Mari, I’ll make sure Aya gets priority for the next cornea donation,” he promised.

He was slightly out of breath from hurrying over, and for once, he actually looked apologetic.

“I heard your mom was admitted to the hospital, too. Do you need me to help out with anything?”

He pulled out a black credit card and held it out to me. “I’m sorry. Bella feels guilty about taking the corneas. Just take this money.”

I stared at the credit card pinched between his fingers.

The glossy surface reflected the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.

“Okay.” I pushed his hand away and gave a quiet nod.

Tyrese’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.

“If you’re upset, tell me,” he urged. “I guarantee this will never happen again. Bella’s family forced her into marrying my dad, and she’s suffered severe physical abuse. I only reassigned the corneas to deal with the consequences of my father’s violence.”

He paused, clearly bracing for me to start screaming at him.

I got why he was confused.

Over the past year, he’d gotten used to my loud, emotional blowups.

He fully expected me to pick a massive fight, ice him out for days, or snap at him nonstop.

He obviously had a long list of calm reassurances ready to go to talk me off the ledge, but my absolute silence made every single one of those words completely useless.

I picked Ayana up and turned my back to him. “Go take care of Ms. Haywood. I don’t need you here.”

Tyrese sucked in a sharp breath, clearly realizing that something was suddenly very, very wrong.

“Mari, please don’t make me guess what’s going through your head when you refuse to explain,” he pleaded.

I flashed a brief, humorless smile.

“Fine,” I told him. “I just received two legal statements from the attorneys…”

Before he could even finish his sentence, a nurse called out from down the hall. “Mr. Frampton, will you be handling Ms. Haywood’s post-op care yourself again?”

Hearing that, Tyrese shoved his black credit card hard against my chest and bolted for the operating room next door.

I just looked down at the card wedged into my collar. I didn’t move.

He was completely frantic, his entire focus locked on the woman inside.

I pulled Ayana close and started walking the other way.

I felt entirely numb. After everything that had happened, I didn’t have a single drop of emotion left for him.

A year ago, Agustin Frampton — San Francisco’s wealthiest billionaire and my father-in-law — publicly announced his fifth marriage.

At the time, I figured it was just another one of his eccentric whims.

But on the day of the wedding, Tyrese actually cried. This was a man who always kept his feelings strictly under wraps.

He hadn’t bothered to show up to any of Agustin’s previous weddings, but for this one, he sat right in the front row.

That night, he drank himself into a stupor.

Leaning his massive weight against me and making me stumble, he just kept mumbling the same words on a loop.

“Bella, Bella… I can’t believe they gave you to my father…”

The thing is, Tyrese never drank. Not ever.

Even seven years ago, at our highly publicized, bi-coastal wedding in New York and San Francisco, he hadn’t touched a drop while greeting our guests.

I remembered standing there on our wedding night, holding two glasses of champagne, feeling completely abandoned.

I had just wanted to toast to our new marriage, to celebrate our future together.

When he proposed, Tyrese had sworn to love and protect me for the rest of my life.

Yet he wouldn’t share even a single glass of champagne with me.

It took me a long time to learn the truth.

Belinda was Tyrese’s one and only ex-girlfriend.

Snapping back to the present, I stared bitterly at the two legal documents on the desk in front of me.

The first was a public declaration stating that Belinda hadn’t taken Ayana’s medical resources, and that I had willingly given up our spot.

The second insisted that my mother’s car crash was purely an accident.

Willingly.

Accident.

The words made my blood boil.

I ripped the papers to shreds.

“I’m not signing this crap,” I spat.

I paused, honestly surprised by how steady my voice sounded.

“Also, I need you to process this divorce agreement.”

Seven years of marriage.

All the love, the hate, the sorrow, and the joy.

I was leaving it all behind.