No Longer A Victim, Now I Rise

The fluorescent hum of the DMV was the soundtrack to my boring life, until I tried to replace my lost driver's license.

"Your marital status. It says you're divorced," the clerk said, shattering my five-year marriage to Jackson Parks with a single, flat sentence.

My husband, Jackson, the man who swore he loved me, had secretly divorced me three years ago. Not only that, he had remarried the very next day to Candida Camacho, the woman who had tried to murder me on my wedding day and left me infertile. And they had a two-year-old son, Joey.

I stumbled home, my world a blur, only to find Jackson and Candida in our living room, arguing. "I hate having to pretend for that pathetic woman!" Candida shrieked. Jackson, my husband, pleaded, "I love you. I've always loved you."

The man I sacrificed everything for, who swore to destroy her, was now playing house with my attempted murderer, and I was the fool living in his house, sleeping in his bed, believing his lies.

The pain in my abdomen, a phantom ache from five years ago, flared to life, mirroring the gaping wound in my soul. I would not be his victim anymore.

"Hamilton," I said into the phone, my voice clear and steady. "I need your help. I need you to help me die."

Chapter 1

The fluorescent lights of the DMV hummed, a flat, endless sound that matched the boredom on every face in the room. I just needed a replacement for my driver's license. I' d lost my wallet last week, a simple, annoying inconvenience. Or so I thought.

I sat on the hard plastic chair, my number finally blinking on the screen above the counter. E47.

I walked up to the window. The woman behind the glass looked tired. She chewed her gum slowly, her eyes barely glancing at me.

"Good afternoon," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "I need a replacement license. Elena Medina."

She typed my name into her computer, the clicking of her long nails the only sound for a moment. Her chewing paused. She squinted at the screen.

"Elena Medina," she repeated. She looked up at me, then back at the monitor. "There's a problem here."

"A problem?" I asked. "Is my photo outdated?"

"No," she said, her voice flat. "Your marital status. It says you're divorced."

The hum of the lights suddenly felt louder. The air in the room felt thick. I forced a small laugh.

"Oh, that must be a mistake," I said. "I'm married. My husband is Jackson Parks. We've been married for five years."

The woman sighed, a puff of air that smelled faintly of mint. She turned her monitor slightly towards me. "The system says you were divorced from Jackson Parks three years ago."

My smile froze. My blood ran cold. This wasn't just a mistake. It was impossible.

"That can't be right," I insisted, my voice shaking a little. "Please, check again. There must be a system error."