Sophia’s Revenge: Divorcing my husband and becoming rich

"Why me? I have prioritized him over all of my needs, including those of my family, and all I have ever done is love him." Sitting at the bar on a chilly Texas evening, holding a cold glass of beer—possibly my third for the evening—I muttered to myself. Even with the alcohol's numbing effects, my pain and suffering persisted and refused to go away. I experienced that aching sense of hopelessness with every sip, especially as I looked at my friend Lisa, who was beaming with happiness, laughing and giggling on FaceTime with her fiancé, Nathan, who was out of town representing his company. As I watched, flashbacks to my first foray into the world of love and my early marriage haunted me; my once-envious and radiant love life now mocked me. The sparkle had gone, leaving only a dull ache, and it had become the very thing that was making me unhappy. Pity and contempt took the place of every happy moment, which was now in the past tense. My desire to drown in alcohol was fueled by the pain of a broken dream, vows and a marriage that made me shiver at night, and the lost love that threatened to consume me. I pondered and remembered how my husband's eyes, once filled with adoration and love, had turned icy and distant. He would make love to me, cuddle me, and express his feelings for me. His once gentle and loving touch and manners have now become harsh and callous; he frequently beats me in his rage, curses me and enjoys it, and mistreats me as he pleases. As a continual reminder of what I had lost and what my dysfunctional present life used to be, these memories continued to haunt me. Even though he didn't have much and my parents didn't support our union, I was blinded by love and his false promises. My husband, Bernard Martins, and I fell in love in college, and our love overcame everything. Ellen Peters and Mr. Fynn Peters are my parents. They wanted me to delay getting married after college, but I, Sophia Peters, the foolish, impressionable, and young, refused. I was very young; I married at age 22 after graduating from college at age 21. Even though he is almost seven years older than me and we have been married for five and a half years, our relationship feels like a nightmare. My parents wanted me to work for my dad's multibillion-dollar company, Peter's Multi-Foundations, which owned billions of shares and stocks. Once I had mastered the ins and outs of the business, they wanted me to work as my dad's PA and eventually as the director. We got along okay after Bernard started doing well, but I regrettably turned it down for a phony love. My father disowned me after I rejected his offer, and the same man who said he would love and care for me has now broken my heart. He'd started to prioritize other women, friends, his job, and hobbies over me. Bernard used to be a sweet guy, the one who drew all the girls' attention in school; he's handsome and a big basketball fan. My marriage with him has been a nightmare and a trauma, but I was willing to stay because I still loved him, and I stayed for my son, Leo. But my perspective shifted when a cold evening in Texas turned sour On that evening, at the bar, as the night progressed, I couldn't help but wonder what had changed in my marriage. But for a moment, I just sat there, nursing my bottles of beer, almost drunk and lost in a sea of pain and regret, as my world seemed to moving on without me. Memories of how my life could have turned out taunted me, serving as a bittersweet reminder of the life I had abandoned. My father's advice, once deemed restrictive, now appeared as a beacon of wisdom, a chance to escape the clutches of the man who became my tormentor. The agony of my decisions pierced my soul, a constant reminder of the disastrous consequences of my disobedience. I burst into tears, trying to cry quietly so as not to draw attention. Regretfully, a stranger approached me and noticed it, his face etched with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked. The tone annoyed me so much that I started to get angry and my eyes flashed. I gave him a firm palm slap on the cheek. "Leave me some room!" I practically spoke out loud. "You are the same hypocrites, liars, and abusers!" "So, for what purpose was that?" With an outraged tone, the stranger objected. "I was only trying to pay attention and show concern, and this is the thanks I get?" He added. Even though his words were brimming with pretended innocence, my grief saw something else: another man trying to take advantage of a depressed and sober woman. A nearby lady sat with him and intervened, her tone condescending. "Don't be too harsh on him, dear; this gentleman was just trying to help. You shouldn't respond to his kindness so callously." She uttered. The stranger's benevolent mask slipped, revealing a glimmer of entitlement. But I wasn't having any of it. "Gentle?" "I spat," her tone venomous. "Wait until they begin to deceive and betray you, until their tender words turn to poison and their loving touch becomes a suffocating shackle, and then you will understand my contempt." I responded to her. "So, you came here with a woman and left her to come exploit me, correct?" I let loose with the man. The lady gave me an angry expression, as if she were about to unleash her wrath on me. The man I slapped tried to calm her down, and the way he spoke to her indicated that they knew each other. "Shut up, i***t!" she exclaimed. "Margret, please stop," the man said. The woman looked at him like, "Are you serious?" Isaac! "This lady has just disrespected you, and you will accept it." She uttered. "You two don't need to exchange irate words." In an attempt to soothe her, Isaac answered. "Well, I don't blame you; perhaps that's why you're single." She spoke with him. "And don't talk to my brother like that." She stated, looking at me: Lisa interrupted me with a voice as soft as a breeze just as I was about to reply. "Hey! Hello! People, please relax and take a deep breath. Gentlemen, you don't have to use harsh language. "I said," she said. Isaac introduced himself, smiling warmly and seemingly genuine. "My name is Isaac Marshalls, but please call me Isaac if you don't mind," he said. After introducing herself and shaking hands, Lisa apologized for my reaction, her words flowing softly. “Isaac, I sincerely apologize for her actions. We came here to relax and get our minds straight, hers in particular, but I suppose things got heated. She's going through a difficult moment right now.” Lisa disclosed. Isaac waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, no problem, no harm done; I was just expressing concern." I snorted, and my voice became skeptical. "Same old words; always so quick to pretend." I spoke in a low tone. Lisa gave me a warning look. "Come on, Sophia, be nice; he doesn't bite." She spoke in a tender tone. Isaac went on in a cordial manner. "This is my sister, Margret Marshalls, by the way." Lisa shook hands with Margret, her smile beaming. "Margret, nice to meet you. This is Sophia, and my name is Lisa. As they exchanged pleasantries, the tension of anger dissipated, and they began a friendly conversation. I didn't pay much attention to them, though. They said their goodbyes and were about to leave, but Isaac paused as they approached the exit door and returned to the counter, where he left us. I assume he forgot something; perhaps he wanted to show me his palm.