I want to file for divorce.
The words came out steady as if they had been waiting in my throat all along, finally tasting air for the first time.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Are you sure about this, maam? Youve been married for twenty years.
I looked around my bedroomthe walls I painted, the curtains I sewed, the furniture I polished every weekend like some loyal housemaid. The scent of lavender fabric softener clung to the bedsheets. Everything was clean. Perfect. Lifeless.
Yes, I said, firm this time. Im sure. File it as soon as possible. I want to leave this house immediately.
I hung up before I could hear her response.
The silence afterward was strangepeaceful, but laced with a kind of ache only a woman like me would understand. The ache of finality. Of choosing myself after being forgotten for far too long.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My lips trembled, but I didnt cry. Not yet.
Instead, my mind drifted back to that moment. The exact one where I knew this marriagethis lifewas over.
It was a quiet evening. The house smelled like fresh pasta. I had spent the whole afternoon preparing his favorite meal. I wore a soft blue dress I hadnt worn in years, thinking maybejust maybehe would notice.
I sat beside him on the couch, watching him review some documents from his firm, and then finally asked him about my dream destination, Paris, which hed promised me.
Paris? he repeated with a laugh, not even looking up from his laptop. What for? Youre not that young anymore. Cant we skip the formalities? Its not important.
I stood there, holding my breath like a delicate glass.
You promised, I said softly. Twenty years ago. You said one day, when things are better, well go. Wed celebrate properly.
Kier leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. With what money? Are you using your savings? Oh, waityou dont have your own money.
I blinked. Cant it be a gift? I just want to enjoy something. After taking care of you. Of the kids. Of this house
Oh, so we tired you out? he snapped. Dont make it sound like I forced you into this. Youre just staying home. Whats even hard about your job? I make the money. You get to sit in the comfort of this house and complain about wanting a vacation.
Your job.
That word always scraped at me like a dull knife. As if motherhood, marriage, womanhood were simple lines on a to-do list. As if the years I spent making everyone elses life easier meant nothing. Like my work began and ended in the kitchen.
He went on. Why dont you be more like your sister Camille? Shes not even your sister by blood, and yet shes miles ahead. Unmarried, independent, smartshe earned her own money and place in the world. She can travel wherever she wants and doesnt burden anyone for it.
Camille. The orphan they adopted when I was fifteen. The golden girl who walked into our lives and stole every single piece of love I thought I owned.
Before I could respond, my father walked inDavid, stern as ever, with that gaze that had never once looked at me with pride.
Shes right, he said, sipping tea as if he hadnt just walked into a storm. Camille is the better woman. Smart. Practical. Knows what she wants.
Then he looked at me.
You, Erika you were born into this house, but sometimes I wonder if that was the real mistake.
I stared at him, silent.
Theres a reason why Camilles thriving and youre still stuck ironing clothes and burning food. If I had a choice, shed be my daughter. She doesnt rely on men for anything.
The room spun, my breath tightening. I didnt reply. I never did. I had learned over the years that pain was quieter when swallowed.
But that didnt mean it didnt hurt.
I thought I could endure that and continue living this life, but not until that same night. He left his laptop open on the dining table. The email app still running. I wasnt snooping. I swear, I wasnt. But the subject line caught my eye:
Paris C Wedding Confirmation
My heart stopped. I clicked it.
Inside was a beautifully crafted itinerary. Elegant fonts. Gold accents. Venue details. Champagne menus.
A wedding. In Paris. Kier and Camille.
And the guest list? My father. My son. His wife.
My family.
Everyone but me.
They hadnt just excluded me. They had replaced me.
I finally snapped when I heard Kiers voice from the bedroom.
Erika!
I turned slightly.
He threw a wrinkled shirt at me.
You really dont know how to do your job? What the hell did you do to my clothes?
The shirt hit my face with a sharp snap, then fell to the floor.
What is this? Kier barked, glaring at the wrinkled garment. Why the hell isnt this done yet?
I bent to pick it up, blood from the wound on my palm still seeping into the bandage.
Im sorry, I said softly. I got caught up with the laundry, and I was cleaningthen the vase earlier
Oh, so youre still making excuses now? His voice rose. Is that it, Erika? You want a Paris honeymoon but cant even do basic chores?
He threw a second bundle of white clothes at me, this one speckled with a pale yellow stain.
And what about this? Look at it! he snapped. You ruined it. This is designer. Do you even know how expensive this was?
I stared at the stainbarely visiblebut in his eyes, it was a catastrophe.
I didnt see it, I murmured. Ill fix it.
God, Erika, he groaned. This is your job. Your only job. You get to sit in this house, have whatever you want handed to you, and the one thing I askkeep the house in orderand even thats too hard?
Before I could gather my words, the front door opened, and a familiar voice rang out, honey-sweet and full of sparkle.
Kier! Brother-in-law! Why are you shouting again? Camille.
She entered with her usual grand entrancesun-kissed from her trip, her long curls bouncing, arms full of designer bags and luggage with tags still hanging from them.
Oh, look at this! she grinned, placing the gifts down. Spain was beautiful. Youd love it, Kier. I brought you something.
Kier immediately softened. Camille, you didnt have to
She held out a sleek box. These are custom pieces from Madrid. Only a few made. I saw them and thought of you.
He opened the box like a child with a toy, smiling wide.
Then Camille looked at me, feigning concern. Why were you shouting at my sister? She looks tired. Look at her handsshes clearly been working hard. Dont worry about the shirt. I brought you new ones.
And just like that, I faded into the background again.
The front door opened once more.
Camille! My star! my father David boomed, walking in with arms full of gifts. How was the trip? Tell us everything!
She hugged him like the daughter he always wished I had been. I closed the deal. Its done!
Of course you did, David beamed. I always saybest decision I ever made was bringing you into this family.
They laughed. They toasted water glasses. They complimented each other like a well-rehearsed play.
I stood in the corner like a piece of furniture.
Then Kier turned to me, already irritated. Well? What are you doing just standing there? Go prepare food for your sister. She just brought us gifts, the least you could do is cook.
Camille walked toward me with another box.
Sis, I got something for you too, she said with a fake smile. Since I know you love cooking its an apron. With matching kitchen mitts and measuring cups. Cute, right? You can wear it now while making dinner.
I stared at it, lips tightening. I forced a small nod.
Thanks.
Say it properly, my father barked. Where are your manners?
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Thank you, Camille.
See? David grunted. Stop babying her, Camille. She should be grateful. Let her show it through actions. Go, cook for us.
So I cooked.
I cut. I chopped. I stirred and fried and cleaned, bleeding and aching all the while. I did it like I always didwithout complaint, without recognition.
But when I called them to the table, I was met with silence.
Kier was the first to speak. Actually, dont bother. Were heading out.
What?
Camille closed a major deal. Were going to celebrate at Florentinas. You know, that new luxury place near the harbor.
Camille laughed. Youll love it, Kier. I booked the private balcony. Its stunning.
Then she turned to me, suddenly remembering. Come with us, sis?
But before I could answer, Kier scoffed. No need. Erika doesnt even understand what the deal was about. Shell be out of place. Doesnt even have clothes for a place like that.
She can borrow mine Camille offered half-heartedly.
Kier waved her off. Shes staying. Shes behind on the laundry anyway.
And like that, they all agreed. Camille smiled, my father chuckled, and my husband kissed Camilles hand like it was nothing.
And Ionce againwas left standing in a kitchen filled with steam, silence, and the scent of food no one would eat.
That night, after washing every plate, folding napkins, and mopping the floor, I sank onto the couch.
I opened my phone to escapeto scroll, to feel something other than this ache.
Thats when I saw it.
A new post. From my son.
Joseph.
I clicked.
There they were.
In Florentinas.
Laughing. Drinking. Eating. Clinking wine glasses. My son. My husband. My father. Camille. Smiling like they were a perfect family.
Without me.
I stared at the screen, my hands trembling.
No caption. No mention. Just a perfect picture of everything I wasnt allowed to be part of.
I had cooked for them. Served them. Loved them.
And they had forgotten me. Left me.
Again.
The tears came quietly this time. Not loud or dramatic. Just slow, tired, and steady. I didnt sob. I didnt scream.
I just let the ache fall from my eyes because no one was ever going to notice.
My eyes were swollen when I woke up. I mustve cried myself to sleep on the couch because the stiffness in my back told me I hadnt moved all night.
And I was late.
I scrambled to my feet, realizing with horror that I hadnt prepared breakfastthe one thing they expected from me without fail, every single day.
As I rushed into the kitchen, I heard the sharp edge of Kiers voice from the dining room.
Where have you been? he snapped, seeing me step into the room. Still sleeping at this hour? Wheres breakfast?
Before I could open my mouth, Camille emerged from the kitchen with a spatula in hand, smiling as if none of it was serious.
Dont worry, she said brightly. I already started cooking. Shes tired, so I let my sister sleep a little longer.
No! Kier barked. She should be ashamed of herself. Sleeping while you, our guest, cook? All she does is stay home, and now shes even pushing her responsibility onto you?
He turned to me, fuming. Have some care for the people feeding you. Do something useful.
I lowered my gaze and stepped past Camille quietly. Its okay, I said softly. Ill handle the cooking. You just sit and wait.
Camille smiled, brushing her hair over her shoulder. Its fine. Its just chopping vegetables. Dont make it a big deal.
But before I could respond, our father walked in, placing a mug on the table.
Even if its just chopping, you shouldnt do that, Camille, he said. Your hands arent made for the kitchen. Youre a designer, not a housemaid. Let Erika handle itits her thing.
Its not a big deal, Dad, Camille said with a small laugh, taking a knife anyway. I can help.
No, really, Ill do it, I said again, trying to take the knife from her hand.
But she insisted, and I didnt want to start an argument in front of everyone, so I let it go.
We stood side by side at the counter, both cutting vegetables in a tense silence, until suddenly
Agh! Camille shrieked.
Blood dripped from her finger. She dropped the knife as Kier rushed into the kitchen in panic.
What the hell happened?! he shouted, grabbing her hand. Youre bleeding! Goddamn it, Camille, your handdo you even know how important that is?! You have a presentation next week!
Its okay, its just a scratch
Kier turned on me before she could even finish.
This is your fault! You useless woman! You let her get hurt in your own kitchen! You couldnt even chop the damn vegetables yourself?
I was stunned. II didnt
But it didnt matter. Camille tried to defend me, but her voice was drowned out by the chaos. They were all hovering over her, pressing tissues to her wound, blaming me for things I hadnt done.
And I didnt even have the chance to explain that I had a wound too.
The cut I got from cleaning up the broken vase hadnt healed, and now with the kitchen work, it had split open again.
But no one noticed. So I quietly stepped away, my bleeding hand hidden under the edge of my apron, and went back to my room.
I sat on the edge of the bed, peeled off the bandage, and sighed as I pressed a clean towel to the reopened wound. The sting was sharp, but the silence stung more.
Then the door burst open.
Kier.
Apologize to Camille, he ordered.
I looked at him. It wasnt my fault. She insisted. It was an accident.
He narrowed his eyes. So what? Youre still responsible. Apologize.
I didnt hurt her.
I dont care. Just do it.
Before I could respond, Camille entered the room too, still holding her bandaged finger.
Its okay, she said, her voice soft now. Theres no need for that. My sister is not at fault. Its on me.
I forced a nod, though my throat burned.
Camille glanced at Kier. Anyway, we need to talk about the trip. Only three days away now.
Oh, right, Kier said, his tone shifting instantly. Were heading to Paris. Business trip. Ill need you to pack our things. Im going, Camilles going, and your dad too.
Paris.
My heart skipped.
Can I come? I asked before I could stop myself.
They both looked at me.
Kier let out a harsh laugh. You? Erika, its a business trip, not a vacation. Dont dream too high. You wouldnt even know how to keep up with the conversations. Youd just embarrass us.
I could just
No, he cut in. This is for work. Camilles part of the brands pitch. Youd be out of place. You dont even have clothes for something like this.
I could
Shell stay, he said flatly, turning to Camille. She can finish the chores while were gone.
Camille hesitated, eyes flicking to me with what might have been pityor performance. Well bring you something back, she offered, with a thin smile.
My lips stretched into a small nod, but I felt it. The heat behind my eyes. The silence in my throat. The lump in my chest I had learned to swallow every day.
And then they laughed.
Not mean-spirited, not sharpbut casual. The way people laugh when theyre comfortable, when they forget someone else is in the room. Like I was a joke. Like I wasnt even there.
Their voices trailed down the hallway as they made plansrestaurants in Paris, what Camille should wear, how the photos would look.
I turned slowly, walked into our room, and shut the door behind me.
No tears this time. Just stillness.
I moved on instinct, pulling the suitcase from under the bed, unfolding shirts, checking lists, laying out Camilles makeup bag, folding Kiers blazers. I didnt thinkI just did what I had always done: prepared everyone elses life while mine sat on the shelf, untouched.
But then I saw itKiers laptop.
It was still open, still glowing faintly on the nightstand. Like it was waiting for me.
I hesitated.
And then I moved toward it.
It took just one click.
There it was.
A photo. Clear as day.
Kier in a tailored suit. Camille in a white dress, smiling like she had already won. The Eiffel Tower blurred behind them, gold lights blinking in the background. Pre-nup photoshoot C Paris folder.
Another scroll down showed the wedding date. The one Id seen in the email before. Confirmed.
They werent even trying to hide it anymore.
I stared at it.
But I didnt cry.
Instead, I picked up my phone.
I dialed the gallerythe one Id visited in secret once, where the photos lined the walls, each one glimmering with confidence and artistry. I remembered the way the assistant had smiled at me when I lingered in front of the bridal portrait display.
The phone rang once. Twice.
How may I help you?
I breathed in, slow and steady. Then spoke.
Id like to schedule a wedding shoot. A pre-nup session.
Of course, maam. May I ask the name of the bride and the groom?
I paused.
Then smiled softly to myself.
There is no groom, I said. Just the bride. Me. Alone.
Because I was finally choosing myself.
The necklace was gone.
I checked the drawer again, hands trembling. I sifted through scarves, opened every little pouch and box. Nothing. My chest began to tighten, panic seeping in like cold water.
No. No, noit had to be here.
I turned the whole vanity upside down. And then it hit me.
Kier.
I rushed out of the bedroom, still in my robe, feet bare against the cold floor, and found him at the dining table, sipping his usual black coffee, flipping through files as if the world didnt just tilt on its axis.
Kier, I said, my voice already breaking, wheres my necklace? The silver one with the black stone. The one in the velvet box.
He didnt even glance up. Oh, that? Gave it to Camille. Looked great on her. Shes wearing it in Paris.
I blinked. You gave it to Camille?
Yeah. Relax. He flipped a page. You werent using it.
It was mine, I said quietly, my voice tight. You didnt even ask.
He finally looked at me, sighing like I was a burden. Erika. Be real. You probably bought it with my card anyway. Whats yours is mine, right? Why are you making this a thing?
No. I didnt buy it with your card, I snapped, hurt flooding my voice. I bought it with my own money. Money I earnedon my own.
His brow lifted slightly. Doing what?
Ive been designing again, I said, my voice shaking. Freelance. Quiet jobs. Ive been saving for five years. That necklace it was the first thing I bought for me in a long time.
Kier scoffed. Designing? What, kitchen aprons and pillowcases?
I took a step back.
You really dont know me at all anymore, do you?
Youre being dramatic, he muttered. Its just a necklace. Ill get you a new one.
It was limited edition, I whispered. And I was going to wear it today. I was invited to a fashion show. I wanted to look like the woman I used to be, even for a day.
Kiers laugh cut through the air like a whip. You? A fashion show? He shook his head. Erika, lets be honest. Youll be laughed at.
I froze.
Youre not that woman anymore, he continued, like it was a fact he had long accepted. You belong here. In this house. With your apron and your routines. Camille, on the other handshe belongs on runways, in Paris, with people who matter.
He stood, collected his folder, and headed toward the door.
Dont go to that show, he said without turning back. Youll only embarrass yourself. I told you to pack for our things, right? Is it ready now? Do it! Make sure that we will not forget anything.
He left.
And I just stood there. No more tears. Just this strange, burning quiet in my chest. Not sadness, not heartbreakjust hatred. For the way I let myself become so small. For the way they never even had to raise their voices to crush me. For the way I spent twenty years handing out pieces of myself until there was nothing left but duties and silence.
I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around our bedroomour curated little cage. The walls I had decorated. The sheets I washed. The photo frames that no longer held memories, just proof that I had once existed beside him.
I shouldve done this sooner.
I shouldve loved myself sooner.
But for twenty years, I chose to love a man who didnt see me. I chose to serve a family that never said thank you. I chose quiet over conflict, sacrifice over self.
And what did it get me? Nothing.
I stood up.
I pulled out the dress I had planned to wear for the fashion showthe one Kier said was too loud for someone like me. I wore it proudly. Fixed my hair the way I liked it. Put on the lipstick he once said made me look too old to matter.
And then I left the house. They wouldnt notice anyway.
I hailed a cab and gave the address to the gallery to finally do the photoshoot.
The assistant greeted me. Were ready for you, she said, leading me into the sunlit studio. Youll look beautiful.
I stepped in front of the camera.
The photographer adjusted the lens. Are you sure you want these to look like bridal portraits and youll be alone?
I nodded. Yes. I dont have a husband.
He nodded and then started taking photos. With every shot, I felt lighter. As if I were slowly peeling off the layers of someone elses expectations.
I remembered Kiers words from long agothe ones that once made me stay.
Erika, I know Camille is a star, but shell never want someone like me. She wants her career. You? Youll stay. Youll care. Youll be my peace.
He said he would give me the best life in return.
He gave me a kitchen. He gave Camille everything else.
I stood beneath the soft lights and smiled at the camera. Not a forced smile, not the kind I wore when guests came over or when Camille handed me a gift just because.
This smile was mine.
I left the studio with a print in hand. A single photograph of me in a dress I chose, in a life I finally began to claim.
That evening, the house was still empty. They had all gone outanother dinner, maybe another celebration. Probably laughing, posting photos I wasnt in.
I didnt care.
Because I wasnt staying.
I opened my laptop. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Flight to Paris C One seat.
I clicked.
Booked.
I would go to Parisnot as a wife or a plus-one.
Not as a ghost in someone elses celebration.
But as a woman fulfilling her own dream.
The next morning, I stayed in bed, the suitcase zipped and ready by the door. I heard footsteps, voices, laughter in the hallway. I didnt move.
But then Kier barged into the room, annoyed. Where is the necklace?
I sat up slowly. What necklace?
That necklacethe limited edition one I gave to Camille. Its missing. Did you take it back?
I blinked. Why would I take it back? Youre the one who gave it away. Without even asking me.
Its gone, he growled. She was supposed to wear it today. And now youve stooped low enough to steal it back? Unbelievable.
I stared at him, stunned. You think Im the one whos low?
This is why youre not coming with us, he snapped. You dont deserve to be treated right. Youve always been petty, Erika.
Before I could answer, Camille entered the room, a bit flustered. Wait, waitits not her fault. I must have misplaced it. Dont get mad at her.
Their father, David, appeared behind them, tapping his watch. Were going to be late. Just buy another if you need to. Lets go. Erikamake sure the house is clean by the time we return.
And that was that.
They left.
No hug. No goodbye. No thank-you for the twenty years I gave them.
Just orders. Just silence.
I stood by the window and watched the car pull away, taking with it everything that once convinced me I was part of a family.
A few hours later, my phone buzzed.
Camille: Hey sis, we found the necklace! Im so sorry about earlier. Ill buy you something nice to make it up. Thank you again for letting me wear itits so beautiful!
Then another ping.
Kier: Black cards on the table. Buy whatever you want while were gone.
I read both messages and laughed. Softly, bitterly.
This was always the cycle, wasnt it?
Hurt me. Humiliate me. Then hand me a credit card like it was a balm for the wounds they never acknowledged. As if the ability to shop would erase the fact that I was unwanted. Unloved. Undervalued.
But not this time.
I looked around the quiet houseempty now, like a ghost town echoing with memories that didnt serve me anymore. Today, I was finished being their shadow.
I walked slowly to the living room, retrieved the envelope I had tucked beneath the couch cushion the night before, and placed it neatly on the coffee table.
Inside were the divorce papers, and also our wedding ring.
I stood for a long moment in the doorway. One last glance. Not for nostalgia. Just confirmation.
I wasnt coming back.
At the airport, I sat near Gate 18, sipping quietly on a paper cup of coffee, staring at the glowing screen of my phone. I let myself smile. My life was beginningat the exact moment they thought they had erased me.
I was mid-scroll through a rooftop restaurant review when a familiar voice sliced through the air.
Shit. My passportwhere is it?
Camille.
I froze. They were across the terminal, laughing, wheeling their designer luggage, wrapped in joy. My father, David, adjusting his tie. My sons wife snapping a picture of the group. And Camillerummaging through her purse, visibly agitated.
I doubt if they would even notice me as theyre busy on their own lives.
Kier rubbed his forehead. Youve got to be kidding me. Didnt Erika pack it for you?
Camille blinked. No, I I asked her, but I dont know if she
Damn that useless bitch. I told her to check everything, Kier muttered, pulling out his phone. Ill call her. She can drop it off. Its not like shes busy.
Of course.
Even now. Even after everythingthey still expected me to fix their mess.
My phone rang.
Kier.
Then a message.
Kier: Camille left her passport. Can you bring it to Terminal 2? Were at Gate 7. ASAP.
I stared at the screen. The same screen I had waited years to see his name on. Hoping hed text I love you. That he was proud of me. That he saw me.
But now now all I saw was proof. Proof that even when I was no longer theirs, they still expected me to serve.
I slowly typed my response.
Erika: I dont want to do it. Im done being your nanny, Kier. Goodbye.
Then I turned off my phone. I stood, lifted my suitcase, and walked toward Gate 18.
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