Gaslit by Comments for Years

I watched the floating comments fade, numb.

Then I looked up and met Alex Gallucci as he stepped out of the study.

He didn't even glance at me. Went straight to Nico. "You like Tressa's pasta?"

Nico nodded hard.

Only then did Alex look at me, eyes cold. "Stop wasting time in the kitchen. Nico doesn't like your food."

He grabbed the fork Tressa handed him, took a bite, and smiled at her.

In that moment, I felt like a background extra in my own home.

I'd been married to Alex for seven years. Nico's stepmom for seven years.

Seven years ago, Alex's real love—Cecilia Borrello—died, leaving him with a baby, Nico.

He came to me and asked if I'd marry him.

I'd loved him for years. I said yes without thinking, clinging to the chance.

But on our wedding night, he went cold. "Cecilia's the only one in my heart. I'm marrying you so Nico has a real family. Don't expect anything else."

My chest went cold.

'I was so blinded by love,' and I still agreed.

I thought if I tried hard enough, I could warm him up.

I was wrong.

For seven years, I ran myself into the ground for this family.

I learned to cook, arranged flowers, nailed everything a rich wife was supposed to know.

I memorized all of Alex's preferences. His stomach was sensitive, so I made meals that wouldn't upset it.

I treated Nico like my own. When he got a fever in the middle of the night, I held him till morning. Parent-teacher meetings—I was always there first.

And what did I get?

Alex's cold face. His absence.

Nico's hostile stare. "You're not my mom."

I wanted to give up.

Even if I loved him like crazy, I couldn't keep swallowing this pain.

But then the live comments showed up for the first time.

[Don't give up, Reyna! Alex LOVES you like crazy. He just can't get past it. Cecilia was his responsibility.]

[Nico too! He already sees you as his mom. He's just stubborn. He secretly hugs the clothes you got him to sleep.]

Half believing it, half not, I snuck into Nico's room.

Sure enough, under his pillow, I found the clothes he said he'd thrown away.

The creases said otherwise. He'd worn them a lot.

From that day on, the live comments were the only thing keeping me going.

When Alex was distant, they said:

[He's jealous! You talked to the butler too long today!]

When Nico ruined my new dress, they said:

[He's jealous! He didn't buy that dress for you!]

Every bit of hurt from them got twisted into "obsessive love" by those comments.

I believed it.

Like an idiot, I used those empty words to excuse all their indifference.

Until a month ago, when Tressa Falconi showed up.

Her face—seventy percent like Cecilia's—hooked Alex and Nico instantly.

Alex brought her home like it was nothing.

Whenever I asked, he'd just say, "We're discussing work."

Every question turned into me "nagging."

Nico stuck to her, saying her name in that sweet little voice every other sentence.

And the live comments kept feeding me lines.

[Don't worry! Alex is using Cecilia's lookalike to provoke you! He wants you jealous, losing it over him.]

[Nico too. He wants you to feel threatened so you'll pay more attention to him. Boy just acting out for attention.]

The comments were like invisible in-laws, lecturing me over and over.

And I kept believing them. Over and over.

Until today.

It was my birthday. I spent the whole day on it, and they threw my cake in the trash.

Watching the three of them laugh together, I felt drained.

Like they were the real family—and I was the extra no one wanted.