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The day I signed the divorce papers, I submitted my immigration application. Leftover food on the table, gifts rotting in the trash, and a heart in ruins. That was all I had to show for these years. The butler called to tell me I had left my keys at home and asked if I wanted him to leave the door unlocked. I hesitated. "No need. I'm not coming back." He added that Michael was sick and kept mumbling in his sleep about wanting millet porridge. "His favorite new mommy can make him seafood porridge. Millet porridge was never good enough for them anyway." The son I carried for nine months turned out exactly like his father. They even fell for the same woman. I used to be furious, wondering how the child I brought into this world could treat me like that. I used to resent the man I nearly died saving, only for him to betray me. Now I had made my peace with it. If they didn't love me, so be it. Life went on. I pressed the seal onto the application, and over the roar of traffic, I spoke my final words. "Tell them they can stop testing me. I won't interfere with their happy little family of three."