Chapter 2

I sat in my parents' living room, clutching a cup of tea that had long gone cold. The familiar floral wallpaper seemed to close in around me as I struggled to find the right words. How do you tell your parents your marriage is falling apart? That your husband considers you a "settlement"?

"Mom, Dad," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk to you about something important."

My mother, Margaret, looked up from her magazine with thinly veiled irritation. "What is it, Liliana? I'm in the middle of reading about Princess Charlotte's birthday."

I took a deep breath. "It's about Sean. And our marriage."

My father, Robert, grunted from behind his newspaper. "What did he do now?"

The way he said it—like Sean was the victim and I was the problem—made my stomach clench.

"He's been posting online about how I'm just a 'settlement,'" I said, the words burning my throat. "And he's been using our money to buy Sloane a house."

I expected shock. Concern. Maybe even anger on my behalf.

Instead, my mother set down her magazine with deliberate slowness. "Well, what did you expect, Liliana? You've always been so demanding."

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. "Demanding? I've cooked his meals, supported his career, given him my inheritance—"

"And you should be grateful," she interrupted. "Sean is a successful man. Do you know how lucky you are?"

"Lucky?" My voice cracked. "He's cheating on me!"

My father folded his newspaper noisily. "Men like Sean need understanding wives. Not ones who make scenes."

I stared at them, these strangers who were supposed to be my parents. Had they ever loved me? Or had I always been just a convenience—someone who eventually became a source of income for their comfortable retirement?

"I just thought..." My voice trailed off. What had I thought? That they would comfort me? Defend me?

"You thought what?" My mother's eyes narrowed. "That we would take your side? Liliana, you need to be more realistic about marriage."

I felt something inside me crack. Five years of marriage to a man who saw me as "fine." A lifetime of parents who saw me as an obligation.

As I sat there, stunned by their coldness, I noticed my mother's hand slide toward her phone on the side table. She glanced at me, then quickly looked away when our eyes met.

"I need to use the bathroom," she said, standing abruptly.

I nodded numbly, watching as she disappeared down the hallway. Something about her furtive movements made my skin crawl.

When she returned five minutes later, her expression had changed. The irritation was gone, replaced by something that looked almost like... satisfaction.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Of course," she said smoothly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

But I knew. I'd seen that look before—when she wanted something from me. When she was planning something.

Later that evening, as I was helping clear the dinner dishes, I heard her on the phone in the kitchen.

"Yes, she's here now," she was saying in a low voice. "She seemed very agitated... talking about Sean and some house... Yes, I think you should be careful."

My blood ran cold. She was talking to Sean. Warning him.

"Mom!" I dropped the plate I was holding. It shattered against the floor. "Are you calling Sean?"

She spun around, phone still pressed to her ear. "I—he needed to know you're acting strange."

"Acting strange?" My voice rose. "I found out my husband is cheating on me with my friend, and I'm acting strange?"

"Lower your voice," she hissed. "Do you want the neighbors to hear?"

Something snapped inside me. Years of suppressed anger and hurt boiled to the surface.

"You never cared about me!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. "Not when I was a kid, not now! You just care about your comfortable life!"

My father appeared in the doorway. "What's going on here?"

"She's hysterical," my mother said dismissively. "Making wild accusations."

"I heard you," I said, pointing at her. "You're calling Sean to warn him. After everything he's done!"

"Liliana, that's enough." My father's voice was cold. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down?" I laughed bitterly. "You want me to calm down while my whole life is falling apart?"

My mother stepped toward me, her face hard. "Get out of this house."

"What?"

"I said get out." She pointed toward the door. "We won't tolerate this behavior."

I moved toward the front door, my vision blurred with tears. "Fine. I'll go."

As I stepped onto the porch, my foot caught on the uneven step. Pain shot through my knee as I fell forward, my hands scraping against the concrete.

I looked back at the house—at the parents who had never loved me enough—as tears and blood mingled on the cold ground.