Chapter 6

I drove into the compound and parked quietly. 

Elvis’ car was already there.

I blinked twice.

He was home… early.

That was new.

Since we got married, he never came home this early. In fact, he hardly came home at all. And when I asked about it, tried to talk, begged for just a little of his time, he would snap.

“Do you want me to quit my job just because I married you?” he used to say with irritation in his eyes.

After hearing that too many times, I gave up trying. I stopped asking. I stopped expecting. I stopped hoping.

But today felt strange.

Why was he back early?

Something wasn’t right.

I unlocked the front door quietly and stepped inside. The sitting room was empty, but I could hear soft laughter coming from the kitchen. It wasn’t just laughter. It was familiar—intimate.

I moved closer, each step feeling heavier than the last.

And then I saw them.

Elvis and… Fiona.

My sister.

No—the woman I used to call my sister.

She was in my kitchen, wearing one of my aprons. She was stirring something on the stove while Elvis leaned beside her, watching her like she was the only person in the world.

They looked so comfortable. Like they’d been doing this for a long time.

They looked like lovers.

I stood at the doorway, frozen.

They saw me—but acted like they didn’t.

As if I was invisible.

As if I was nothing.

I forced myself to speak, my voice barely steady. “Fiona… what are you doing in my kitchen? This is still my house.”

Fiona didn’t even look at me. She just kept stirring, smiling softly at Elvis.

Elvis turned slowly, his mouth curling into a cruel smirk.

“Your house?” he scoffed. “Since when?”

I blinked, confused. “Since we got married.”

They both burst out laughing.

That laughter echoed inside my chest like thunder.

“Wow,” Elvis said, shaking his head. “You need to stop living in that fantasy. Whatever you think we had was nothing. It meant nothing.”

I stared at him, then at Fiona. She still wouldn’t look at me. She acted like I was the outsider, the one intruding.

That was the moment it hit me.

I had been married to myself all this time.

Elvis was never in it with me.

I turned around and walked away, my legs feeling weak. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t break anything.

I just… went to my room.

I sat on the bed, staring at the wall, the silence around me louder than any words. My heart didn’t even race anymore. It just sat there, broken, confused, and cold.

I had to think. I had to plan.

I couldn’t stay here.

Not because my marriage had ended—but because I felt like my life was in danger.

A few days later…

I drove to my lawyer’s office in silence. The radio was off. My phone was silent. My heart was heavy.

But my mind was clear.

I needed to end this—officially.

He handed me the brown envelope after I signed the last page.

“It’s done,” he said gently.

I nodded. “Thank you.”

I held the envelope tightly like it was the final piece of closure I needed.

When I got home, their voices were the first thing I heard. Laughter again.

Loud this time.

It was coming from the sitting room.

I opened the door and walked in. There they were, sitting close together like newlyweds. Elvis had his arm around her, and Fiona had her head resting on his shoulder.

They didn’t even pause.

They just looked at me—and then continued with their moment like I was a passing shadow.

“Elvis,” I said firmly, standing tall. “Go through this and sign it.”

He looked up lazily, then narrowed his eyes. “What’s in the envelope?”

“Divorce papers,” I replied calmly. “Read them. Sign them.”

He whistled and turned to Fiona with a smirk.

“Wow, that’s actually great news,” he said. “Took you long enough.”

Fiona giggled and touched his beard. “Oh, honey,” she whispered, “soon you’ll be mine completely. I can’t wait.”

He grinned, turning his head to kiss her softly on the forehead. “Same here, baby. No more drama.”

I stood there watching the two people I had trusted the most—destroying me without remorse, without shame.

I didn’t say another word.

I turned and walked to my room.

I pulled out my suitcase from under the bed and began packing my things. Not because I was defeated. Not because I had nowhere to go. But because I needed to leave—to survive.

This house wasn’t safe anymore. Not for my mind. Not for my heart. Not for my life.

As I folded my clothes, a single tear dropped on my blouse.

I wiped it quickly.

No more crying.

No more begging.

No more hoping.

I zipped up the bag, stood up, and looked around the room one last time.

This place used to be my dream. Now it was a nightmare.

I opened the door, ready to walk away from everythi

ng I thought I needed.

I wasn’t just leaving a broken marriage.

I was escaping a betrayal that almost cost me my sanity.

And I wasn’t looking back.