Chapter 1

After ten years of marriage, I'd somehow become the least respected person in my own family.

My husband, Jude Bradford, called me a nagging housewife who only knew to ask for money.

My son, Max Bradford, took after him, sneering that I wasn't as independent or confident as Violet Bridges, the new secretary from his dad's company.

Then one day, I saw the messages on my husband's phone.

Violet: [Jude, it's pathetic how your wife can't live without you. A real modern woman should be financially independent.]

Jude: [That's why she'll never measure up to you.]

In that moment, something inside me snapped wide awake.

Fine. If being "independent" was what earned their respect—then I'd learn to be independent too.

And I'd start with quitting my unpaid job as the family's maid.

*****

"Mom! Where's my Avengers T-shirt? Did you move it again?" Max yelled.

He was digging through his stuff, practically tearing the place apart, his annoyed voice coming right through the door.

I'd just gotten the laundry in and was about to start folding them.

"The cuff was ripped, so I fixed it last night. It's in the top drawer of your closet," I replied.

Max burst out of the closet, face scrunched up in a scowl, waving the T-shirt.

He snapped, "Stop touching my stuff. I could've fixed it on my own.

"Ugh, look at what you did. It looks awful. How do you expect me to wear this to school now? My friends are totally gonna laugh at me."

The stitches were a bit uneven since I could barely see with the crappy lighting last night.

However, I was just trying to get through all the chores in a hurry so I could crank out the handmade project for the parent-teacher meeting tomorrow.

But it was not like it looked hideous or anything.

Before I could say a word, Jude came out of the study, holding his coffee cup.

He frowned. "What's going on now? Why are you two making such a racket this late?"

He was wearing a crisp shirt, and I caught a faint whiff of aftershave—the one I'd just opened for him today.

Jude glanced at the T-shirt, then shot me a look.

His eyes were full of the usual tiredness and disapproval.

He said, "Ellen, how many times have I told you? Max is growing up—he's got his own taste and his own ideas now.

"Let him handle these small things on his own. Stop doing everything for him. He won't thank you for it and it'll just wear you out."

It felt like dozens of tiny needles pricking at my chest, leaving a dull ache that just wouldn't go away.

I parted my lips, wanting to explain I just wanted to make things easier for him tomorrow, that I was only trying to help.

But with Max griping like it was all my fault, and Jude looking down at me loftily, the words got stuck in my throat.

"Yeah! Violet always says kids have to learn to stand on their own two feet. We can't count on Mom and Dad for everything," Max jumped in.

Violet Bridges was the new assistant at Jude's company. She was young, pretty, and supposedly some stylish returnee with an overseas degree.

She was always going on about female independence and self-worth.

Her Instagram was all about her killer abs from the gym and fancy Michelin-starred restaurant food, posted in nine-square grids.

Her captions were always super positive, making sure everyone saw how her so-called "independence" came with plenty of luxury perks.

Max had met her a few times when he went to Jude's office, and he was totally starstruck by her.

He treated everything she said like it was gospel.

Jude's mind clearly went to Violet too, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Violet's got real ambition. Women nowadays should be more like her—chasing after their own careers and passions, making their lives remarkable," he said.

I stayed quiet and kept on folding Max's clothes, even though he didn't want my help.

Max frowned, messing up his folded clothes. "I can fold them myself. Violet never needs anyone else to help her."

My face fell. "Max, is this any way to talk to your mom?"

Max pouted, muttering under his breath, "Well, it's true. Violet says anyone who always relies on others is just a vine—they'll never grow up to be a real tree."

Those words hit me out of nowhere—like a bolt of lightning cracking through my brain.

A twenty-five-year-old girl was shaping my son's view of his own mother, the woman who'd poured her heart into the family.

And my husband, the man I used to be so proud of, just stood by, not only allowing it, but actually admiring this new way of thinking.

Suddenly, the memory of Jude leaving his phone on the couch a few days ago flashed through my mind.

A message came in from someone saved under the nickname "Sapling"—I knew that was Violet.

Sapling: [Jude, I saw your wife called again today asking about dinner plans. I'm not saying she's a bad person, but honestly? Women need their own thing going on.

[If you make family and your man your whole world, it's so easy to lose yourself. That kind of life is just kind of pathetic.]

And right beneath that, Jude had replied: [Yeah, that's why she'll never be in your league.]

Deep down, the sandcastle I'd built out of years of sacrifice and patience was starting to fall apart before I even realized it.

Ten years poured into this family, and what did I get? Not respect.

Instead, I got looked down on—more and more, every single day.