Sewn Lips: Her Silent Cry For Justice

My husband told me I was a contractual obligation, an irritant he was forced to endure after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a social media influencer, a woman whose lies were as polished as her feed. But when her baby was found with a small cut on her lip, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous monster who attacked an innocent child. My husband, the man I had stood by through everything, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he ordered a guard to take a needle and thread and sew my lips shut. "She needs to see nothing. Hear nothing. Say nothing," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy. He then had me hung upside down in the lobby of my own wellness retreat, a public spectacle for the world to condemn. As I dangled there, bleeding and broken, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me. But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I' d planted in the baby's room. And they had no idea that my family could crush his entire empire with a single phone call. Chapter 1 Audrey Wallace POV: He told me I was a contractual obligation, an irritant he was forced to endure. Five years ago, a car crash stole his memory of our love, gifting him a new life with a woman whose lies were as polished as her social media feed. Now, he stood before me, openly kissing her, while I, his legal wife, handed him the papers he thought were just another business deal, not the divorce I had meticulously orchestrated to finally break free. "Audrey, the 'Magnolia Suite' is ready for our esteemed guests," I said, my voice smooth, practiced. Jake Foster, the man who was once my husband, barely glanced at me. His arm was wrapped around Jada Floyd's waist. She was a social media influencer, all glistening smiles and carefully curated perfection. "Finally," Jada purred, her eyes scanning the opulent lobby of my postpartum wellness retreat. "This place better live up to the hype, Jakey. My followers expect nothing less." "It will, darling. Audrey runs a decent enough establishment, for what it is," Jake replied, a dismissive wave of his hand. It was a knife twist I had grown accustomed to. My life's work, reduced to "a decent enough establishment." My phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from Clara. Did you do it? Are you free yet? Elliot asked about you. I saw Jake reaching for the pen on the counter. My hand instinctively darted to my pocket, shoving the phone deeper into the fabric, out of sight. His gaze, cold and sharp, flickered to my quick movement. He paused, a momentary suspicion in his eyes, then shrugged. He signed the document I slid across the polished mahogany counter. The contract, I' d told him. For Jada' s extended stay. He never read anything I put in front of him anymore. Just signed. He didn't know he was signing away his claim to me. He signed our divorce papers. A small, bitter laugh threatened to escape me. He thought he was just authorizing Jada's luxury. He was unknowingly signing his own exile from my life. The irony alone was almost enough to make me smile. "This place smells like lavender and desperation," Jake muttered, his nose wrinkling. He pulled Jada closer. "Make sure Jada has everything she needs. Organic juices. No gluten. And absolute privacy for her 'inspirational' content." Jada giggled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "You're the best, babe." My stomach churned. The sweetness of their public display was a venom that slowly corroded my insides. I offered them a tight, professional smile, picking up the signed papers. The thick parchment felt heavy in my hand, a strange mix of freedom and finality. As I reached for the next form, my fingers brushed Jake's. It was a fleeting touch, barely there, but a jolt went through me. A ghost of a memory, perhaps. Jake recoiled as if burned. His face contorted with disgust. "Don't touch me," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. His hand shot out, not to push me, but to slam my wrist against the edge of the counter. A sharp crack echoed in the silent lobby. Pain exploded, radiating up my arm. I gasped, stumbling back, clutching my throbbing wrist. My vision swam. He saw the pain, the way my knuckles had gone white. But his eyes held no remorse. Only contempt. "Filthy," he spat, pulling a small antiseptic wipe from his jacket pocket. He scrubbed furiously at the spot where my hand had touched his, as if my skin carried some vile disease. "Don't you ever put your hands on me again, Audrey." My breath hitched. My wrist was already swelling, a dull ache throbbing deep in my bone. This wasn't new. Five years. Five years of hoping a flicker of the man I knew would return. Each time, I'd tried. A gentle reminder of a shared joke. A photo left "accidentally" on his desk. Each time, his amnesia-fueled rage would erupt. The punishments were swift and brutal. Once, I had dared to hum our college song. His fist had connected with my temple, leaving me with a concussion and a terror that still made my heart race. His security detail, always lurking, had learned to anticipate his moods. Their blows were precise, breaking no bones, but leaving bruises in places no one would see. I swallowed the metallic taste of fear, forcing myself to stand tall. "Of course, Mr. Foster," I managed, my voice a strained whisper. "My apologies." "Lead the way, Audrey," Jake commanded, his voice returning to its usual arrogant tone. "Jada is tired." I nodded, my head pounding. I knew what would happen if I showed weakness. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I straightened my shoulders and turned. My face must have been ghostly pale, because even Jake, in his self-absorbed bubble, seemed to catch it. His gaze lingered for a second on my face, a fleeting, unreadable expression. He said nothing. Jada, oblivious, clapped her hands. "Oh, finally! I can't wait to see the room! I need to do a live unboxing for my followers starting in five minutes." "You seem… unusually compliant today, Audrey," Jake remarked, his eyes narrowed. "No snide remarks? No attempts to remind me of our 'glorious past'?" My jaw tightened. "I am a professional, Mr. Foster. And my past is irrelevant to my duties here." His eyes flickered again, a strange tension in his brow. "Mr. Foster? Since when did you get so formal, little dove?" His voice was laced with a venomous sweetness, a clear mockery of a forgotten endearment. A shiver ran down my spine. That name. It was buried deep in a past he couldn't remember, a past he'd erased. I pushed the memory down, forcing a blank expression. "It is proper protocol for a client, sir." I began to walk towards the suite, desperate to escape. "Audrey, wait!" Jada' s voice stopped me cold. "You know what? My fans love seeing me pampered. Come film my unboxing. Give me a foot rub while I do it." The air left my lungs. Humiliation burned through me, hotter than the pain in my wrist. I glanced at Jake, a desperate plea in my eyes. He just watched, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Do it," he said, his voice flat. "Consider it part of your 'duties,' as you like to call them." A fresh wave of anger, cold and sharp, washed over me. But I knew better than to fight. Not now. Not when freedom was so close. I walked back, my head bowed, and knelt by the plush armchair, taking Jada's delicate foot in my hands. Her skin felt foreign and soft. Jake watched, a flicker of something dark in his eyes. "You know, Audrey," he said, his voice dangerously low, "your obedience is almost… unsettling. It makes me wonder what you're really up to." My heart hammered against my ribs. "I am merely fulfilling my obligation, Mr. Foster." He let out a short, harsh laugh. "Obligation, right. Well, since you're so good at fulfilling obligations, how about this? Record it. Record your little performance. And send it to me. I'll need some… entertainment later." He pulled out his phone, tossing it casually onto the floor beside me. Jada, lost in her own vanity, was already posing for the camera, describing the luxurious robe she was pulling from a box. Jake leaned back on the bed, watching me, his eyes dark and hungry with a sadistic pleasure. My fingers trembled as I picked up his phone. The cold metal felt like a brand. I tapped the record button, the red light a tiny, mocking eye. The camera was pointed at Jada, but I could feel Jake's gaze on me, burning, dissecting. Jada's cheerful chatter filled the room as I massaged her foot, my mind numb. The sounds of their forced intimacy, her coos, his low murmurs, were a physical assault. My ears rang. My stomach rebelled. Finally, Jada declared her unboxing complete. "That was amazing, Jakey!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. "You spoil me rotten." He kissed her deeply, then turned his gaze to me. "See, Audrey? This is what happiness looks like. Something you'll never understand. All that passionate fire you used to have… it's gone, isn't it? Doused by your own pathetic ambition." His words were a whip, cracking across my raw nerves. "You think you're so smart, so strategic. But you're just a sad little woman, grasping at straws, hoping someone will notice you." Something inside me snapped. The carefully constructed façade crumbled. The pain, the humiliation, the years of silent suffering-it all converged into a single, explosive burst of rage. My hand, still clutching his phone, flew upward. I hurled it with all my might. It spun through the air, narrowly missing his head, and shattered against the wall behind him. "Pathetic?" I choked out, tears finally blurring my vision. "You call me pathetic? You, the man who lost his entire memory of love, only to be manipulated by a parasite who cares more about her follower count than her own child's well-being! And me? I stood by you! I honored my vows! I rebuilt this retreat from nothing while you paraded that… thing around like she was the queen of England!" Jake froze, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and dawning fury. His jaw clenched. He was about to explode. I braced for the impact, the inevitable punishment. But then, his eyes glazed over. His face, usually so impassive, contorted in a strange, pained expression. He clutched his head, his gaze unfocused. "Little dove?" he whispered, his voice hoarse, laced with confusion. "Did… did I know you before this?"