Chapter 4- Resentment

Stephanie‘s POV

The taxi ride is a blur, the soft hum of the engine barely cutting through the storm in my head. My fingers slide restlessly across my phone, refreshing my emails, scrolling through apps, anything to distract myself.

The thought of facing my parents fills me with bother. They’ve never cared about my life—only about what I could provide. Since marrying Vince, their demands for money have been relentless, their concern for my well-being nonexistent.

My jaw tightens as I think about telling them about the divorce. How will they react? Will they rage about the lost financial pipeline, or will they simply dismiss me, as they always have?

The taxi pulls up to the house I once called home. I steel myself before stepping out. My mother is seated in the living room, her lips pressed into a thin line. When she looks up at me, there’s no warmth, only the cold judgment I’ve known all my life.

My father and brother didn't show up, a situation all too familiar to me. It usually meant they had new demands to make.

My mother doesn’t bother to look up right away. Her attention is fixed on the magazine in her lap, her fingers idly flipping a page as if I’m nothing more than a nuisance she has to deal with. “You’re late,” she says flatly, her tone devoid of any warmth. “Sit down.”

I hesitate for a moment before obeying, perching on the edge of the couch. My fingers curl into my lap as I wait for her to speak, the silence pressing down like a weight on my chest.

She barely looking at me before continuing. “Your brother just graduated from college. You’ll need to find him a job at Vince’s company.”

And so it is.

Her words are so matter-of-fact, so dismissive of my struggles, that it takes me a moment to process them. “I can’t do that,” I say firmly, though my voice wavers slightly.

Her eyes narrow, sharp and probing, as if daring me to justify myself. “Don’t tell me you’ve messed things up with Vince,” she says, her tone flat but loaded with judgment. “Do you even understand what’s at stake here?”

“At stake?” I repeat, incredulous. “Mom, do you hear yourself? You’re acting like my marriage is a business deal!”

“It is a business deal,” she snaps, leaning forward. “Do you think we’d have half of what we have if it weren’t for him? Do you think your brother would’ve graduated without his tuition money? Or your father would’ve had his treatments?”

Her words spill out like venom, each one biting deeper than the last.

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping before I can stop it. “It doesn’t matter. He’s been cheating on me. Vince and I are divorced..”

Her reaction is immediate and brutal. The slap comes out of nowhere, a sharp, stinging explosion of pain that leaves me reeling. I clutch my cheek, stunned.

“You’re so stupid!” she hisses, her voice trembling with anger. “You’re only wanting a divorce because your husband cheated? Do you have any idea how much you’re throwing away?”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “I’m not going to live like this anymore,” I snap, my voice rising.

Mom leans back, crossing her arms. The look she gives me is one I’ve seen before—a mix of disdain and disbelief, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum.

She narrows her eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? This is how rich men are—they’ll always look for fun elsewhere. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s normal. What’s not normal is you refusing to accept it. That’s your job as his wife.”

I stare at her, disbelief tightening my throat. “It’s not normal,” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s cruel. And for the record, I didn’t refuse him—he left me. Vince is the one who wanted the divorce. He’s the one who threw me away!”

Her lips curl into a sneer. “Of course he did. Look at you. All this fuss because of something men have been doing for centuries. You couldn’t even make him stay despite everything he’s done for you and this family.”  

“You think this is about you?” she says slowly, her voice dripping with condescension. “You don’t get to make decisions like this, Stephanie. You’re not just throwing away your life; you’re throwing away ours too.”

The audacity of her words stuns me. “Ours?” I echo, my voice rising. “You mean the life I’ve worked to hold together for all of you?”

“You never care about me,” I say, my voice shaking with anger. My mother’s indifference strikes like ice, her sole concern being that, if I stay married, she and my father will secure more of Vince’s money. As for the torment I’ve endured? It means nothing to her.

I don't understand why my parents always treat me this way, as if I weren't their own flesh and blood.

“You can't love your child only when they're useful to you.”

“That's exactly what I've been doing. ”Her expression doesn’t change. If anything, she looks more disgusted. “You’re his wife,” she repeats coldly. “It’s your duty to help your family.”

Every second spent at home becomes more unbearable. My heart pounds as I rise from the couch, my hands trembling. “If you have nothing else to say, I’m leaving,” I announce, my voice taut with barely contained fury.

My mother glared at me, as if there was something more she wanted to say. I turn and walk out, slamming the door behind me with a finality that feels like breathing for the first time in year.

***

I returned to the home I had lived in for four years, only to be shocked to find a few of my belongings packed into boxes, sitting abandoned and cold on the doorstep.

Was Vince really in such a hurry to get me out? Was this how quickly my presence had become unwelcome?

Just days ago, my husband cast me aside without a second thought. Now, even my own parents have shut their doors to me. I’m utterly alone, with nowhere left to call home.

Just as I stood there, feeling utterly lost and homeless, the sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. When I turned my head, I saw a man in a tailored suit standing before me, his expression calm yet serious.

“Stephanie Sullivan?” he asked, his voice firm.

He had used my maiden name. A small detail, but one that caught my attention. I nodded, keeping my composure. “Yes. Can I help you?”

He adjusted his glasses and opened the briefcase in his hand. “I’m a lawyer representing a consortium,” he began, pulling out a folder. “I’ve been instructed to speak with you about your birth parents.”