HIS REGRET AFTER I WALKED AWAY

CATHERINE'S POV

December had barely started, yet the air was already biting cold. I lay there with my legs sprawled across the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling while the angry shouts rose from downstairs.

"Catherine Kingsley, first you can't give us a child, now you won't even cook dinner on time? What do you want? Planning to starve me and Walker to death?"

Kate Walker's voice sharp as shattered glass echoed through the house. It always did.

For six years of marriage to Ryan Brook, I have listened to these same accusations. Kate has never missed a chance to call me useless. A hen that couldn't lay eggs. But no one ever wondered why Ryan has never touched me. Not once. Not since the day we were married.

"Get down here already and fix my school bag! I'm late for class!"

That was Walker, Ryan's teenage brother. His voice cut through the air, impatient and loud, like the world revolved around him. Since the day I stepped into this house, he has treated me like his personal servant, laughing at my misery as if my life was a joke only he understood.

Catherine, pull yourself up.

I dragged my tired legs down the stairs, and my mind whispered it again and again like a broken record. Why do I let them treat me like this? Why do I still stay?

I moved into the kitchen, cooking without speaking. Then I packed Walker's bag, slipping his books inside and placing his lunch neatly in its spot. Every motion felt robotic. Practiced. Like I was a ghost haunting my own hands.

"Food is ready, Mum," I said quietly, setting the plate on the table.

Kate turned her eyes on me. A flash of anger burned across her face as she slammed her water glass down. The clink echoed sharply, making me flinch inside.

"Look at you, Catherine," she spat. "Sponging off my son's money in his house, yet showing me that scornful face. You think I won't tell Ryan right now and make him divorce you?"

My hands trembled. The plate nearly slipped from my fingers, but I gritted my teeth and forced my lips into a smile. "I'm not scornful, Mum. Eat up, please."

She sneered, her tongue laced with mockery. "Don't you dare think that old lady's support will secure your place, Mrs. Brook. Compared to Sarah, you're nothing."

That name was a knife in my chest. I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving my skin pale and cold.

Walker, watching from the table with a smirk, twisted the knife deeper. "Don't you know? Sarah's almost ready to leave the hospital. My brother is bringing her home. She'll be living with us soon."

My hands shook so badly the silverware rattled against the plate. Kate waved me off as if I was a stray dog she was shooing from her dinner. "You disgust me. Go upstairs. Don't ruin my appetite."

Without another word, I climbed the stairs. Back to the sofa. My body sank into the crushing, heavy silence. I stared at the clock, listening to the ticking of the hours, waiting for the evening to come because the evening meant he was coming.

When the night finally fell, a slick black BMW rolled to a stop in front of the house. I rose quickly and hurried to the balcony. From there, I saw him: Ryan Brook. He stepped out in his dress shirt, his posture firm, his face unreadable. Even under the harsh glow of the streetlight, he looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine. But I knew better. I knew the coldness behind that perfect image.

Ryan looked up and caught my gaze. His eyes were cool and distant. They cut right through me. No warmth. No welcome home, wife. I forced my lips into something like a smile, though I felt it die before it reached my eyes.

Once he entered, I went about my usual routine. I turned on the water, letting the bathtub fill. I spoke softly, trying to fill the awkward silence with the sound of my own voice.

"Grandma Ruth has been at St. Joseph's Church for almost a month now. She called earlier. She's praying for you."

Ryan's voice cut me off like a knife. "I need to tell you something."

I froze. My hand hovered over the tile floor as I slowly turned to face him. His eyes were as dark as the winter sky, locked on me with no affection only distance.

"Sarah is coming back," he said.

The words dropped, heavy and flat, like stones into still water.

"You will move out tomorrow."

The world seemed to tilt under my feet. Walker had been telling the truth.

"What if I refuse?" The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. My voice was firm, a whisper of smoke with a spark of fire hidden inside. For the first time in six years, I wasn't just nodding and obeying.

Ryan frowned. His jaw tightened, and I saw the muscle flex in the dim light. "Don't forget how you even became my wife."

The words dragged me back through years I wished I could erase. I remembered it too well, the night of the accident. Sarah had been the one lying in the road, covered in blood. But I had been the one dialing 911. I had rushed her to St. Mary's Medical Center. I had sat there through the night, listening to the machines beep steadily. Sarah's rare blood type had almost cost her life, and I was the one donating again and again, growing weaker by the hour just to keep her heart beating.

And when Ryan stood by that hospital bed, his eyes wet with gratitude, his promise hung around my neck like a chain: Anything you ask, I will grant it.

Anything but love, I thought bitterly.

Now here I was, six years later, standing in the same cold marriage, his voice pushing me out the door.

So this is what I get. Six years of servitude, and in the end, I'm tossed aside like garbage.

Ryan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and turned his back on me. "Don't drag this out. Pack your things. Sarah needs me."

What about me? I wanted to scream it. What about the woman who gave up her blood to save her? What about the wife who stayed even when you refused to touch her hand? But I didn't speak it. The words turned to ash in my throat.

Ryan turned and walked toward the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence between us.

I remained in the room, motionless, staring at the floor. How many more humiliations can I take?

From the hall, Walker's laugh drifted up the stairs, sharp and gleeful. "You're finally leaving! You should have known my brother wouldn't keep you forever."

My fingers curled into a fist so tight my nails bit into my palm.

One day, I will walk away without looking back. And none of you will see me cry again.

But tonight, I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the morning that promised nothing but another goodbye.