After My Husband Cheated, I Took Back My Voice

By the second year of my battle with speech aphasia, I had taken on the role of sign language host for rehearsals. The new host was struggling with her lines, stumbling repeatedly, which forced me to gesture countless times.

My husband, Fletcher, who managed the station, was livid about my strained wrist. "If you can't even remember your lines, what's the point of being a host? Mess up again, and you're out!"

The female host was terrified, muttering apologies while everyone else stayed silent. People knew Fletcher was notorious for being protective, unable to bear seeing me upset. But after the rehearsal, I stumbled upon him comforting that same host in his arms.

"Sweetheart, don't cry. Your tears move me," he murmured. "Your voice is so much more pleasant than that mute's. Go ahead..."

I was crushed. Right then, I accepted an invitation from my old colleague at the network. "Lawrence, I'll join you for the Christmas special in five days."

No sooner had I replied than I received the script from him. I saved it on my phone and drove to the hospital alone. Three days ago, Fletcher had changed plans unexpectedly and didn't accompany me for my follow-up. He had no clue my voice had come back, nor did he know that when I wanted to share my joy with him, I discovered his betrayal.

In the past few days, I'd been diligently attending speech therapy, working on my pronunciation. My speech was improving, and the therapist said I was ready for hosting again. When I returned home after practice, I saw Fletcher hurriedly approaching from a distance.

"Gabby, why did you turn off your phone? I was worried sick," he said with genuine concern etched on his face. It made me question if what I'd seen in the dressing room was just a figment of my imagination. After all, we had been in love for six years, and Fletcher had always treated me like I was precious. I recalled when he was vying for the station manager role; I left my job at the network without hesitation to support him. The shows I hosted consistently broke viewership records, ensuring his success.

Two years ago, I endured a car accident, trapped in a burning vehicle for too long. Though rescued, I found my vocal cords severely damaged, leaving me speechless. When Fletcher learned I couldn't host anymore, he vowed to stay by my side. He accompanied me to therapy every day, learned sign language, and cheered me on to return to television.

Yet now, this man whom everyone believed loved me deeply had a fresh mark on his neck, hinting at intimacy with another woman. It brutally reminded me that the one I loved for six years had long faded. I turned away, signing an excuse, "My hand hurts. I'm going to see a doctor."

Fletcher immediately examined my hand. "What did the doctor say? Is it serious? Does your wrist still hurt now?"

"It's that incompetent host's