Chapter 2

On the way home, her words kept echoing in my head.

She said the reason she never wanted me to marry Andrew was because he was the youngest in his family.

Kids like that, spoiled from birth, never learn to value anyone else.

She'd even dug up dirt on him; turned out, Andrew was flirting with girls since middle school.

I was so dazzled by his looks that I couldn't see straight. Nothing could stop me from marrying him.

I had to admit, my mom really did see it all coming.

When I walked in, the place was lively, way more than usual.

Andrew was already home, and he'd brought someone with him.

It was a stunning girl in a white dress, shoulder-length hair, absolutely gorgeous.

She was curled up on the couch I'd carefully picked out, my two sons on either side of her, and Andrew off to the side, buried in paperwork.

From where I stood, they looked just like a picture-perfect family.

But only I knew the four of us hadn't actually sat down for a meal together in forever.

Even when he had time off, he'd always lock himself away in his study.

The kids never wanted to go out with me. They always said I was too controlling, too much trouble.

Now, Lucas, usually so quiet, was practically bouncing, holding Sophie's hand.

"Sophie, you're awesome! You actually beat the big boss. My mom could never do that," Lucas said.

Sophie grinned, her eyes crinkling. "Of course. I'm the star player on our school's esports team."

Andrew handed her a glass of milk. "Here, drink some milk first, or your stomach will start hurting.

"Emily will be back soon. She'll cook for us when she gets here. Her braised shrimp is amazing—you'll love it."

They chatted so casually, like I was just the help, not the woman of the house.

I caught a glimpse of my dull, tired-looking face in the entryway mirror.

Almost on instinct, I dropped the plastic bag and ran out as fast as I could.

I hated myself for not being faster. Even after running like hell, it still took me twenty minutes to reach the Foster Manor.

I burst through the door, landing on my knees with a loud thud.

I yelled, "Mom, please help me! I don't want to be a washed-up housewife anymore. I'll do whatever you say!"

My mom set down her chopsticks.

She walked over and slapped me hard across the face.

The blow made my ears buzz, my cheek burned, and the haze in my head was rattled to its core.

My mom's voice was icy. "Does it hurt, Emily?"

I mumbled, "Yes."

"Good. Remember this. I slapped you because you wasted five years of your life.

"You made a bad choice, and now you need someone to clean up your mess. If you get hit, you stand up and own it.

"Starting tomorrow, go find Beatrix. She'll help you."

With that, she turned and went to hug my little sister.

I wiped my tears and walked out.

When I got back to the Goodwin house, the guys had no clue I'd been gone. Ethan saw the bag in my hand and immediately started whining about being hungry.

"Mom, I want cola chicken wings and braised pork. Lucas wants braised shrimp, and Dad's stomach isn't great, so he wants your yam and pork rib soup," Ethan said.

Not a single dish was actually good for their stomachs.

The Goodwin men all had inherited stomach problems; every single meal was a nightmare to make for them.

One was allergic to tomatoes, another to eggs, and someone else couldn't handle spices.

If the food was even a bit greasy, they would end up with indigestion or running to the bathroom.

Back when we had a private chef, things were easy. But after I got married, my in-laws decided since I was always at home, I should learn to cook for them myself.

So I started from scratch, and now I could make dishes that actually suit their bodies and taste pretty good, too.

I'd become the model Goodwin wife, but honestly, I'd basically turned into their housekeeper.

Now that I thought about it, was there anything money couldn't fix?

Andrew's company pulls in over 300 thousand dollars a year, and just the trust fund my mom set up for me brings in hundreds of thousands every month. There was absolutely no reason for me to suffer like this.

I tossed the groceries onto the table and looked at them.

I said, "I'm wiped out today, so I'm not cooking. Just order takeout.

"Tomorrow, I'll hire a chef. From now on, whatever you want to eat, just tell the chef."

I was about to head upstairs when Andrew blocked my way.

"Emily, what's that supposed to mean? We've got a guest, and you're going to let her eat takeout?" he said.

"A guest?" I turned slowly, staring at Sophie. "She's just your secretary. What, you expect me, the lady of the house, to wait on her like a servant?"

Sophie's eyes went red. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Goodwin. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

She grabbed her bag, looking all pitiful. "I'll leave right now. Please don't be mad at Mr. Goodwin."

Lucas jumped in first. "Mom, how can you be so rude? Sophie's my friend."

Ethan chimed in, "Yeah, Mom, you cook every day anyway. What's the big deal about making Sophie a meal? Isn't that what you're here for?"

The way they acted so self-righteous made me feel like a total joke.

My cheek started to sting again, reminding me of that slap from earlier.

The husband I spent my youth with, the kids I risked my life to have; they were all siding with someone else.

I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh. I was really a failure.

But Andrew totally misunderstood, thinking I was throwing a tantrum.

"Fine, if you don't want to cook, then don't. Come on, Sophie, I'll take you out to eat," he said.

The boys immediately started clamoring to go along.

As they headed out, Lucas deliberately grabbed Sophie's hand, making sure I saw how close they were.

He'd always hated being affectionate with anyone—even me, he usually wouldn't let me hold his hand.

But now, he was practically tripping over himself to please Sophie. Guess he really does like her.

I thought I'd feel heartbroken, but when I touched my chest, all I felt was emptiness, just a cold, hollow ache.

Turned out, when my heart was frozen solid, I didn't feel a thing.

*****

After my shower, I crashed alone in bed and didn't care about anyone else.

The next morning, nobody bothered to wake me up for the school run.

Slept in until eleven, no interruptions. Honestly, it felt pretty good.

When I finally got up, I showered, washed my hair, and checked my phone. Beatrix had booked me a ton of stuff.

Haircut, shopping for clothes, beauty treatments, and over a dozen medspa appointments.

As I got in the car, Beatrix looked like she had something to say, but held back.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She gave me an awkward smile. "Nothing. I just thought, seeing you dressed so casually that day, maybe you had something special going on. Didn't expect..."

Turned out, my wardrobe was nothing but oversized tees and baggy pants.

I couldn't help but sigh to myself.

"Living like this, I'm just making my mom look bad," I muttered.

Beatrix didn't want to say it outright. "Actually, Mrs. Foster does care about you. She just doesn't know how to show it."

"Yeah, I get it."

I really was slow. Took me twenty-seven years to realize that if I didn't love myself, nobody else would.

I quietly followed Beatrix to the salon, got my messy hair styled into big waves.

Then we went shopping and bought a whole new fall and winter wardrobe.

Last stop, Beatrix took me to the best medspa in town for a post-baby body fix.

When I came out of the doctor's office, my face was burning red. "Beatrix, do we really have to go this far?"

Beatrix looked at me seriously. "This isn't just about your health. It's about feeling good inside and out. It matters."

Honestly, I'd been dealing with leaks for ages.

Ever since I had Ethan, even a sneeze meant changing my underwear.

When I tried to get close with Andrew, he'd complain I wasn't into it.

Eventually, he stopped touching me.

If I made a move, he'd just disappear into another room.

Beatrix was right; this really was a big deal.