Chapter 3: Choosing Myself

Aurelia's POV

The bar gates slid open with a groan as I pressed the button. My chest tightened with each step toward the house.

The moment I opened the front door, a sound pierced me, Oliver’s sobs. My pulse quickened, legs moving before I could even think.

I found him crouched behind the couch, his little hands sticky, his face stained with chocolate and crumbs, surrounded by what looked like half-destroyed cakes. His hiccupping cries rattled straight through my chest.

“Baby,” I whispered, rushing to him. I ran to the dining area and grabbed a towel and knelt. “Are you okay, Oliver?” My hands trembled as I wiped frosting from his cheeks.

Then Grant’s voice thundered behind me. “Where have you been? How can a mother leave her son unattended? Now look at what you’ve caused!” His voice cracked like a whip.

I froze for a moment, but then Julien’s words, that stranger’s steady encouragement, rose in my mind like a shield. I straightened slowly, turning to face Grant.

“Is he not your son too?” I asked, my voice calm.

Grant blinked, stunned. “What?”

“If I’m not here to watch what he does as his mother,” I continued, my chin lifting, “why can’t you do that as his father?”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you out of your senses? You’re the one who left this house, and now you dare talk to me like that?”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Out of my senses?” I echoed, shaking my head. “Grant, I do everything you want, everything. All I wanted was one simple thing. Family time on our anniversary, just us. But you brought your secretary. You sat at the table openly flirting with her, while condemning the food I spent hours making, and asked me to apologize to her.”

My throat burned, my voice rising before I could stop it. “Do you even realize how humiliating that was for me? For your wife?”

Before Grant could form a response, Oliver scrambled to his feet and clutched his father’s hand. His small voice came sharp and devastating.

“It’s your fault!” he shouted at me.

My chest caved in, air stuck in my throat as I stared at him in disbelief.

“You always scold me,” he went on, his little face blotchy with anger. “You never let me eat sweets, and you weren’t home when I was in pain. You’re not as good as Auntie Selene. I wish Auntie Selene was my mommy.”

Each word was a blade, cutting deeper, until I could barely feel my hands around the towel. My heart lurched, but before I could speak, Grant delivered the final blow.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he sneered. “Not only have you failed as a wife, but you’ve failed as a mother. Look at your son, he prefers someone else to you.”

Something in me snapped. I dropped the towel on the arm of the couch. My hands trembled, but my voice came steady, cold even to my own ears.

“You know what? I want a divorce.”

The room stilled. The words echoed back at me, foreign yet liberating. I never thought I’d ever say that, but between the anniversary disaster, the stranger’s kind voice reminding me of my worth, and Oliver’s piercing words, something inside me finally broke free.

Grant’s lips curled into an amused smirk. “Really?”

“Yes, Grant,” I said, locking eyes with him. “I want a divorce.”

He chuckled. “You think I’ll believe that? You’re nothing but a worthless housewife. No money. No career. Without me, you are nothing. You won’t last a day on your own.”

“You’re wrong,” I said calmly, “I don’t need either of you, neither your arrogance, nor your ungratefulness.”

And without waiting for his reply, I turned and headed for the stairs.

Behind me, Oliver’s whiny voice cut through. “Mommy is so mean. Daddy, let’s go find Auntie Selene.”

My chest ached, but I didn’t stop.

“Good idea,” Grant muttered. “I can’t stand this house anymore.”

Their words echoed as I climbed, but for the first time in years, I didn’t crumble under them.

I packed a small bag, stuffing in the last of my secret savings, money I had carefully hidden away for emergencies. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get me to Cassia’s place.

For seven years, I had never once thought I’d leave, never dared to imagine a life outside those walls. My heart wavered, torn between fear and resolve.

“Choose yourself, Aurelia. Choose yourself,” I whispered to the silence, gripping the handle of my bag until my knuckles turned white.

At Cassia’s apartment, the moment she opened the door and saw me standing there with sad eyes and trembling hands, she didn’t ask questions. She simply took the bag from me, set it inside, and put the kettle on.

Minutes later, I sat at her kitchen table, my palms wrapped around the warmth of a teacup. The steam curled upward, and as I took a sip, I let everything spill out, the cruel words Grant had flung at me, Oliver’s rejection, the weight of years spent bending until I broke.

Cassia’s eyes glistened with fury and sadness as she listened. When I finally stopped, my throat raw, she set her hand firmly over mine.

“I’m happy you’ve finally realized that man isn’t worth it,” she said softly.

A shaky laugh escaped me. “Took me long enough.” I sipped again, the tea bitter on my tongue, grounding me.

“Don’t take Oliver’s words to heart,” Cassia continued, squeezing my hand. “He doesn’t have a proper example, a role model. Children mirror what they see, and all he’s seen is Grant. He’s just copying his father, thinking it’s right.”

My chest tightened. Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I know… but it’s still painful. Why couldn’t he mirror me instead? Why couldn’t he see my love?”

Cassia pulled me into her arms, rubbing soothing circles along my back. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay. You’ll get through this.”

That night, as I lay on the bed in the guestroom, I made my decision. My plan was clear: divorce, leave everything behind, rebuild.

I didn’t want that arrogant man, nor the son he had poisoned against me. What I wanted, what I needed, was a life of my own, and a place in the world I once belonged to: the perfume industry.

The next day, I stayed indoors, curled up with my thoughts, imagining what those two were doing without me. Cassia, ever patient, made sure I was comfortable, nudging me with words of encouragement when my doubts grew too heavy. Sunday was the same.

Then, on Monday evening, she came home from work with a spark in her eyes.

“I spoke to Mr. Knightley today,” she said, her voice brimming with excitement. “I referred you for a position at the company.”

My heart leapt. “Cassia, are you serious?”

She grinned and nodded.

I didn’t waste a second. That night, with trembling hands and a heart pounding with something I hadn’t felt in years, hope, I submitted my résumé.