1: I was done

SOPHIA

The heavy smell of roast chicken filled the house. It was almost too much for the small kitchen. I had spent most of the afternoon cooking. Moving from one dish to the other, tasting, adjusting, and wiping sweat from my forehead as the hours passed. My back ached, but it was worth it. 

After placing the chicken on the table, I stepped back to study the setting like a teacher grading her own work. There were tall, white candles in the center, plates lined evenly, and silverware polished. The wine bottle stood ready, already opened, so Marc wouldn’t have to bother. 

It had been months since we last had a drink together. We could share a glass on our anniversary. I smoothed the tablecloth with my palm, my heart racing as if this were a test. In a way, it was. Things had changed since Ollie was born, but tonight, I wanted to close that distance.

Satisfied with the arrangement, I left for our bedroom. On the vanity sat the small box I had hidden for weeks. Inside it was a silver watch. It was nothing flashy. Just a clean and elegant wristwatch he could wear to work daily. I’d saved for it quietly, taking from the grocery budget, telling myself we didn’t need dessert, or new curtains, or a movie night out. All to get him this gift.

Lifting the box, I smiled as I imagined him opening it and kissing me. This would be my first gift to him this year. Maybe he would see me again after this. Maybe he would remember the woman who once made him laugh.

Should I give it to him here or at the dining table? Once my decision was made, I carried the box to the dining table and set it beside his plate. Fear and hope stirred in my chest, and I shook them off. I had to remain positive. If tonight ended well, we could have that family vacation. 

The doorbell rang, and my stomach flipped. Marc was home earlier today. I glanced down at my outfit. The white apron was stained with tomato sauce.

“Ollie?” I called out for our five-year-old son. If Marc was in a bad mood, seeing his son would brighten him. But I got no answer. “Oliver? Dad’s at the door. Ollie?” 

Still nothing. He should have been running to the door, something he always did when his father came home. 

“Ollie, come on,” I said. I had a dress prepared for today, and an apron wasn’t appropriate for my plans. “It’s Dad.” 

Silence. Left with no other option, I wiped my hands on my apron and went to the door. He’d seen me this way too many times to count, anyway. I looked back once in hopes Ollie would burst out and take my place, giving me a chance to change, but nothing happened. 

After one deep breath, I opened the door. Marc stood there, his black coat dusted with the chill of the outside air. My heart lifted, and my lips stretched in a big smile. 

“You’re home. Welcome. I made your—”

My gaze shifted, and the words died on the tip of my tongue. Marc wasn’t alone. Behind him was Victoria, his assistant, shaking off her feet to wipe some invisible dust. 

“Victoria,” I murmured. 

“Sophia,” she replied. 

She stepped forward to stand beside Marc, and my gaze ran over her. Her lipstick was fresh, her blouse pressed, and her hair curled. She looked like she belonged at his side.

“Marc. You brought a guest,” I said, forcing my voice to stay neutral. “Great. I just finished making dinner. Come in.”

Stepping back for them to enter, I smoothed my apron. I should have changed. At least I wouldn’t look like the maid beside the two of them. Marc and Victoria stepped in, but they didn’t get far before Ollie came rushing from the hallway. 

“Daddy!” 

He barreled into his father’s legs, wrapping his little arms around him. Marc smiled, lifting him off the floor. When Ollie turned and saw Victoria, his face lit up even more. 

“Aunt Victoria!” He wiggled until his father set him down, and then he rushed to hug her too, clinging as if she were the prize of the evening. I bit down on the inside of my cheek.

“Come on in,” I whispered. “Dinner is ready.” 

“Dinner?” Victoria asked. “I hope I’m not intruding. Do I need to leave?” 

My mouth opened, but Marc beat me to it. 

“Don’t worry. Sophia is not like you. She has been home all day, so I’m sure she made enough to go round. And if we need more food, it will be no trouble for her.” He glanced at me with a laugh. “After all, she’s a housewife.” 

Two of them chuckled, and I forced myself to stay quiet. We continued to the dining room, with the three of them leading the way. Marc sat at the head of the table, and Ollie climbed into the chair beside him. Victoria took the seat opposite me, her perfume drifting across the table.

I served Ollie first, placing the chicken on his plate the way he liked it. But he was so busy gushing over Victoria to notice. They were all served, but I remained standing.

“Need to get an extra plate from the kitchen,” I said.

Marc dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and I tried to keep my head high as I walked out of there. This was our home, our table, our meal, but he hadn’t even noticed there were only three plates on the table. Did he not see the box I dropped beside his plate? Victoria was the one who didn’t belong here, but she’d taken over so smoothly. 

The kitchen was warm from the oven when I entered, but I felt cold. I leaned against the counter, gripping the edge until my fingers hurt. After so many hours of cooking, my appetite was gone. Would they notice I was missing?

After grabbing the plate, I returned to the dining table, where their conversation flowed smoothly without me. They spoke between bites, nodding in approval. I served myself, but after one look at Marc, my appetite vanished. 

Marc’s gaze dropped to Victoria’s cleavage. The swell of her breasts was hard to ignore, and he didn’t try to hide his staring. He raised his head when I cleared my throat, and his gaze cut into me. I said nothing, and he scoffed, his eyes lowering back to her chest. 

Once upon a time, I was curvy and attractive, too. But years of fertility treatment and hormonal medications had affected my body. Family responsibilities also didn’t allow me the time to take care of myself. 

“Ow.” Victoria’s cry snapped me back to the present. She held a hand to her mouth, saying, “I think I burned myself.” 

Marc shot me a glare. “Is the soup too hot?” 

“It’s fine. I can manage.”

“Not if you’re getting hurt.” 

Dragging his chair closer to her, he took her hand and pried the spoon from her to blow air over it. I picked up mine, scooping a spoonful into my lips. It was warm. 

“There’s nothing wrong with the soup,” I said. 

Marc turned to me slowly. “Then why’s she hurt?”

“Yes, Mommy.” Ollie nodded. “Why did it burn her?” 

Victoria watched me as if waiting for a reply. My mouth opened and closed without a word. In a hurry to get out of here before I did something silly, I jumped to my feet. 

No one called me back as I stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed the sink. I stayed there until Ollie’s voice broke through my thoughts. 

“Daddy, don’t forget the PTA meeting.”

PTA meeting? We were home together all day, and he hadn’t mentioned a word of it. Why didn’t he tell me? 

“When is it?” Marc asked.

“On Monday.”

“Maybe your mom can go.”

My heart gave a small, hopeful stir. But Ollie’s voice cut through it. “No. I don’t want her there. I want you.”

Ollie’s words landed like a slap. I staggered, my fingers curling around the edge of the sink. Why was he acting like this today? 

“Can Aunt Victoria go with me?” Ollie asked. “I like her. She can buy me ice cream and cake again. The last ones were purr-fect. Maybe she can be my second mommy.” 

The air left my lungs. My knees buckled, and I slid down to the floor, pressing my hand against my mouth.

Memories rushed through me, sharp as broken glass. The nights I stayed awake when he was sick, holding a cool cloth to his forehead. The mornings I packed his lunch, I cut his sandwiches into the shapes he liked. The games I cheered at, the cuts I cleaned, and the bedtime stories I whispered when my throat was sore.

Seven years married. Seven years since Marc slid a ring on my finger and told me we’d face everything together. I gave up my job, dreams, body, and health. I nearly died bringing Ollie into this world. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

The laughter from the dining room carried through the walls. I pressed my forehead to my knees, breathing hard. The tile was cold against my skin, but the pain inside me was hotter than fire.

It was at this moment that I knew I was done. 

I couldn’t take this anymore.