3

That night was the first time I truly considered leaving Elliot.

I loved him. But I couldn’t keep swallowing this version of love that came with humiliation and gaslighting.

Still, Elliot had talked me down.

He told me he loved me. that he didn’t want to create more drama by confronting his parents on a holiday, that Owen was too young to lose his mother.

He made it sound noble, strategic and necessary.

So I… I believed him.

I was afraid—afraid to lose a family I’d spent years trying to hold together with nothing but my bare hands.

And I stayed.

I bit my tongue. I quieted my instincts. I even gaslit myself into believing I was overreacting.

That Lila’s presence in our lives was harmless. That I needed to try harder.

Eventually, I stopped defending myself at all.

Because no one ever listened anyway.

The past haunted me like a ghost. Every memory where I should’ve walked away but didn’t—every moment I should’ve chosen me—flooded my chest with shame and regret.

And just like that, Owen’s voice brought me crashing back to the present.

“Bad Mommy,” he shouted, face red with tears. “If you make Miss Lila unhappy, I’ll never call you Mommy again.”

I looked at him, forcing a smile that hurt my face.

“How could I make her unhappy?” I said softly. “I’m leaving, so the three of you can live happily ever after.”

…

Kids will be kids. Innocent and too damn honest.

Owen beamed. “Really? Is Miss Lila going to live with me and Daddy?”

Lila stepped in quickly, trying to smooth over the moment. “Owen, sweetheart, don’t say that. I can’t live with you. Olivia is your mommy.” Then she turned to me, faux-guilt written all over her face. “Don’t take what he said seriously. I’m not here to ruin your marriage or take over your family.”

I didn’t respond.

Then, in the most performative gesture of all, she reached for my hand.

“If my being here makes you uncomfortable,” she said, voice trembling, “I’ll leave.”

Before she could finish, Elliot rushed over like a knight charging into battle.

“Nonsense,” he said, pulling her gently into his arms. “I told Lila she could stay with us for a few days. Don’t blame her. Blame me.”

Lila nestled against him and lifted her tear-streaked face. “No, blame me. I always make you two fight.”

And then, right on cue, Owen began to cry.

“No! Bad Mommy! I want Miss Lila here!”

How perfect. The three of them—like they’d rehearsed the scene.

The doting father. The soft-hearted guest. The loyal child.

Too bad the role of Olivia no longer fit in their script.

“Save the dramas. I am leaving now.” I sneered and ready to leave.

“Why do you have to be a bitch about everything?” Elliot snapped. “Can’t you see Lila’s face? She’s pale. She’s sick.”

“She caught a cold,” he added, like it justified everything. “And I figured she was all alone, so I invited her over. We were just trying to take care of her. So quite lashing out already.”

I let out a slow, bitter laugh. “If you’ve gone deaf, Elliot, maybe you should see a doctor. Because since Lila walked through that door, I’ve barely said a word. But sure—go ahead and call it lashing out.”

I turned, my gaze lingering one last time on the three of them, “Don’t forget to sign the divorce papers.”

…

After Elliot and I married, there was a time I’d been happy here.

Then, one evening, he told me Lila had wanted to visit us.

I remember how I reacted. I’d snapped. Screamed. Said no.

Because she had already wormed her way into every other corner of my life. And this house—it was the last space that still felt like mine.

Elliot eventually gave in. But he was cold toward me for weeks. A month of silence, cold shoulders, bitter sighs.

That cold war only ended when I found out I was pregnant.

Out of everyone in my life, Elliot knew what this house meant to me.

So if I was walking out now—he knew I wasn’t bluffing or throwing a tantrum.

He chased after me, only to stop when he heard Owen’s voice.

“Miss Lila’s forehead is hot again,” he said, “Dad, does she have a fever?”

Without hesitation, Elliot turned away from me and swept Lila into his arms. They ran for the car as I stepped out into the pouring rain, headed toward the main road.

It was nearly impossible to catch a cab, soaked as I was. My hair plastered to my face. My clothes drenched.

I stood there, shivering, invisible.

And then I saw the car pass.

Elliot’s.

Owen sat in the backseat, gently placing a hand on Lila’s forehead. Lila, of course, reclined in the passenger seat with her eyes closed—like a perfect damsel in distress.

And just for a split second, I swear—I swear—I saw it.

That smug little smile on her face.

She had won again. Or at least, she thought she had.

What she didn’t know was I didn’t care anymore.

If my husband didn’t believe in me, if my son didn’t love me—then let them have her.

It’s what they wanted all along, wasn’t it?