FOUR

THALIA

I pulled into the circular drive of the Langford estate just as the late afternoon sun dipped low enough to paint the white stone façade in gold.

For a moment, I stayed in the driver’s seat, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring at the house that had been my home for five years.

It looked exactly the same.

From the outside, nothing had changed.

Inside was another story.

I turned off the engine and reached for the cardboard box sitting on the passenger seat. It held the last pieces of my professional life at Langford Pharmaceuticals. Framed certificates. A few notebooks. The orchid from my office that Jessy insisted would survive anything.

I stepped out of the car and walked toward the front door.

My heels clicked across the floor as I crossed into the living room.

Bailey was sprawled across the cream sectional, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place.

Which, in her mind, she probably did.

Tiny denim shorts. Cropped tank top. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder.

She looked up when she heard my steps.

Her eyes dropped to the box in my arms.

“Well,” she said lazily. “Look who’s back.”

I didn’t answer.

I headed toward the staircase.

Bailey sat up immediately.

“What’s in the box?” she asked.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

She laughed.

“Oh, I think it does.” She leaned forward. “The company’s buzzing about you today. Suspended already?”

I kept walking.

Bailey stood and followed me a few steps.

“You know,” she said casually, “I always wondered how long you’d last.”

I stopped at the base of the stairs.

She folded her arms.

“But since you’re here,” she continued, “go make me something to eat.”

I didn’t respond.

She rolled her eyes impatiently.

“The lemon chicken,” she said. “The one with capers. And don’t forget the garlic this time.”

For five years, that was how it had always worked.

Bailey ordered.

I cooked.

Dinner. Snacks. Coffee. Whatever she wanted.

She treated me like a maid, not only Bailey… the whole family.

And I let them.

Today, something felt different.

“No,” I said.

The word slipped out quietly.

Bailey blinked.

“What?”

“I said no.”

Her expression twisted in disbelief.

“You don’t get to say no to me.”

I turned and started walking up the stairs.

Behind me I heard her footsteps.

“You live here because of my brother,” she snapped. “Don’t start acting arrogant now.”

I kept walking.

“This is Brandon’s house,” she continued loudly. “You’re just the placeholder wife.”

My steps didn’t slow.

“Hey!” she shouted. “I’m talking to you!”

I reached the landing.

Then she said it.

“You hear me, barren woman?”

My body froze.

The word hung in the air like poison.

Barren.

Years of doctor visits.

Blood tests.

Waiting rooms.

Bailey knew exactly what she was doing.

Slowly, I turned.

She stood at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, smiling like she had just delivered the perfect insult.

I walked down a few steps until we were almost eye-level.

“Listen to me carefully,” I said.

My voice was calm.

Too calm.

“Don’t ever mention my ability to have children again.”

Her smile flickered.

“Or my body,” I continued.

“And definitely not my worth.”

Bailey’s expression stiffened.

“You say something like that again,” I said quietly, “and you will regret it.”

For once, Bailey Langford had no response.

She just stared at me.

I turned and walked away.

Inside the bedroom, the silence felt heavier.

I placed the box on the bed and went straight to the closet.

The walk-in closet was enormous.

Designer dresses lined the racks. Shoes arranged perfectly. Handbags displayed like museum pieces.

Most of it felt like someone else’s life.

I pulled my largest suitcase from the shelf.

Black Rimowa.

The suitcase I had bought five years ago for a honeymoon Brandon postponed until it quietly stopped being mentioned.

I placed it on the bed and unzipped it.

Clothes first.

But not everything.

Only the things that belonged to me.

Sweaters. Jeans. Comfortable clothes Brandon always said were “too casual” for a Langford wife.

Shoes.

Jewelry.

I took a few books from my bedside table, and that was when I saw an old photo of us. A picture of Brandon and me. I took the picture when Brandon was in the hospital after he had an injury on the school track. He looked so adorable, and I took a selfie of us together and printed it so I could have a physical copy. 

How foolish of me. I wanted to drop the picture but decided last minute to keep it.

Downstairs, Bailey’s voice echoed up the staircase.

“You think you’re special?” she shouted.

I folded another sweater.

“You’re nothing without my brother!”

I zipped one side of the suitcase.

“You’re just the broke girl who trapped him!”

I almost smiled.

The insults sounded childish now.

“He never wanted you!” she yelled.

I closed the suitcase.

“He never will!”

The zipper slid shut.

I pulled the suitcase off the bed and rolled it toward the door.

Back downstairs Bailey was sitting on the couch again.

But when she saw the suitcase, her scrolling stopped.

I walked straight past her.

At the coffee table I set the suitcase down.

Then I reached into my purse.

The manila envelope was still there.

I had prepared it earlier that afternoon. 

Right after leaving the company, I had called my lawyer, my old friend, Knox, who didn’t ask too many questions.

Inside the envelope were the divorce papers.

I held it out toward Bailey.

“Give this to your brother.”

She stared at it.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

She took it slowly.

“If this is some pathetic love letter—”

“It’s not.”

I picked up my suitcase again.

The wheels rolled across the marble floor as I walked toward the front door.

Behind me, Bailey stood up.

“You’re really leaving?”

I stopped with my hand on the door handle.

Then I looked back at her.

“Yes.”

For the first time in five years, the word felt real.