Chapter 1: The Forgotten Wife

(Patricia's POV)

The kitchen was hot, the smell of boiling stew clinging stubbornly to my skin. I stirred the pot slowly, sweat slipping down my temple, the wooden spoon heavy in my hand.

Suddenly, cheerful voices drifted in from the garden. Voices I knew too well… voices that reminded me of the pain I carried.

My hands froze on the spoon. I didn’t want to look, but out of habit, I glanced through the window.

And there they were.

A man and a woman, running through the garden with their little boy.

“Try to catch me, Dada!” the boy shouted, staggering as he ran a few unsteady steps.

“I see you, little rascal!” the man laughed, jogging after him with easy amusement.

The woman giggled behind him. “Catch me if you can, Honey!”

The man scooped the boy into his arms, spinning him in the air, the boy’s laughter spilling into the warm evening. Then he gently caught the woman when she tried to run past him, holding her close, his smile wide and proud.

Their laughter echoed through the air, light and happy. It was a beautiful scene for anyone to see, a picture of perfect happiness.

But for me, it burned like acid in my chest.

The man was my husband, Mason, and the woman, Rose, was a maid I had once hired years ago. And now they looked like a perfect family… while I faded into nothing, a ghost in my own home.

I stared at them, my heart trembling with pain as the memory replayed in my mind like it was just yesterday.

It all started two years ago. Mason had come home from work one evening, but he wasn't alone. His entire family trailed in behind him, their faces tight, their silence heavy. I knew something wasn’t right.

“There’s something you need to know, Patricia,” Mason began, his voice shaky.

I blinked at him, confused. I had never seen him this nervous. He opened his mouth but no words came.

“What is it, sweetie?” I asked softly, forcing a smile.

“I… it was a mistake… believe me, I didn’t mean..”

“Mason!” His mother, Elizabeth, cut him off sharply, her tone laced with authority.

Mason swallowed hard, his shoulders stiffening like her voice had given him courage.

Then he looked at me and spoke the words that shattered my world.

“Rose is pregnant,” he forced out, his voice cracking. “And the child is mine.”

The air collapsed around me. My ears rang. For a moment, I thought I hadn’t heard him right.

“What… what did you just say?” My voice trembled.

“Rose…” He gulped. “She’s having my baby.”

I froze. My world broke apart. My knees shook, and my chest tightened.

My maid? Of all the women in the world? The same woman who served our dinner, cleaned our floors, and bowed her head politely to greet me?

“No. No, this can’t be true, Mason.” My heart twisted in agony. “Tell me you’re joking. Please... tell me this is some cruel joke.”

But he wasn’t. His silence confirmed everything. My legs went weak, and I stumbled back, shaking my head hard, refusing to believe it.

“I can’t… I won’t accept this.”

“You really think this is a negotiation?” Lucy, his sister, hissed, her arms folded across her chest.

I turned to her, breath caught in my throat. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You should be grateful Mason respects you enough to tell you,” she added coldly.

“Respect?” I laughed bitterly. “He’s been sleeping with my maid under my nose, and you call that respect?”

“For God’s sake, Patricia, stop being dramatic,” Elizabeth snapped.

Dramatic? My heart was being ripped apart, and that was what they called me?

Tears blurred my vision as I looked around the room. Not one of them looked shocked. They had known all along, and they hadn’t gathered to comfort me or defend me, but to break me together.

“This family needs an heir,” Elizabeth’s voice cut through my thoughts like a knife. “You’ve been married to Mason for four years, Patricia. Four good years, and still nothing.”

Nothing. That single word cut deeper than the betrayal itself.

I turned to Mason, desperate for him to defend me. To defend us. But he said nothing. He just stood there, silent, while his family tore me apart.

“We’ve tolerated enough,” Lucy spat. “A barren wife is a curse. Rose is giving us what you couldn’t.”

“Barren?” I choked out the word, almost like a sob.

I wasn’t barren. The doctor had confirmed I was fine. But what proof did I have? Four years and no child to show for it. Not even a miscarriage.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, holding back the words stuck in my throat.

Finally, his father, Gilbert, spoke, his voice heavy with judgment. “We will not reject Rose or the child. If you’re not okay with that, then you can leave...”

“Dad…” Mason called weakly, as if the word 'leave' had wounded him too.

Then he turned to me, gripping my hands painfully tight, as though holding me could stop my world from collapsing.

“Please, Patricia,” he begged. “Try to understand. We can’t live without a child. We need one. And Rose… she’s giving me what we’ve been waiting for.”

My throat tightened. “Mason…” I whispered, tears spilling freely.

He cupped my face, brushing away tears that wouldn’t stop. “You’ll remain my wife, Pat. My only love. Rose will only give me a child, nothing more. Don’t see her as a threat.”

I wanted to scream. About to run mad by his words, but instead, I swallowed the storm inside. Because Mason was all I had left. If I walked away, I had nowhere to go.

So I stayed.

I stayed because I loved him. Because of the years we shared. Because his words... lies or not... were all I had to cling to.

But love became chains. Two years later, nothing was the same. Not his love. Not the way he looked at me. Not the way treated me.

And here I was, standing in the kitchen, stirring pots like a servant. I couldn’t tell if I was still his wife or just another maid. My clothes were faded, shoes worn out. I couldn’t remember the last time Mason bought me anything...not even a small dress.

The jewelry Rose flaunted on her neck today? It was once mine. Mason had given it to me on my 30th birthday. But when Rose pointed at it, he simply took it from me and handed it to her... just like that. He promised to replace it, but a year had passed and nothing came.

Piece by piece, my life was stripped away... clothes, jewelry, shoes, even my car. Whatever Rose wanted, Mason gave her. And every time, he swore he would replace it. He never did.

Every memory stung like salt on a wound. I buried it all. Buried the pain, the anger, deep inside, telling myself it would get better someday.

But tonight, watching them through the kitchen window... Mason and Rose laughing like a perfect couple while I stood sweating, cooking, cleaning... it crushed me.

This wasn’t life. This was survival.

A sharp hiss from the stove jolted me back. My heart jumped. The food was burning. My stomach twisted in fear. If I ruined dinner, his family would scold me again. I could not take that.

I rushed forward, blinking back tears, but as my fingers touched the pot cover, sharp pain seared my hand. I gasped and dropped the cover, letting it crash.

“Patricia?” Mason’s voice broke through, thick with concern.

I turned, startled. When did he get here?

He rushed over, grabbed my hand, examining the burn with gentle fingers. His eyes softened.

“You need to be careful, Pat,” he murmured. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

I almost laughed. He didn’t like seeing me hurt? For two years, that was all he had done. He watched me die piece by piece and never saved me. Was he blind, or pretending not to see?

I pulled my hand away sharply. His eyes widened.

“I’m fine,” I whispered, swallowing hard.

“You’re not fine. You burned your hand, Pat,” he insisted, trying to hold me again.

That wasn’t even the first time. But of course, he hadn’t been here to notice.

Before he could say more, a voice sliced through the room.

“Honey, my legs hurt. I don’t think I can climb the stairs myself.” Rose stood in the doorway, pouting. “Could you carry me to my room?”

And just like that, Mason dropped my hand as if it meant nothing. Of course. He would always go to her.

“Be careful with the chores, Pat,” he said casually, walking toward her. “I’ll check on you later.”

He scooped her into his arms, carrying her like a bride. And Rose? She threw me a cruel, victorious smile as they disappeared upstairs.

My knees nearly buckled. The burn on my hand was nothing compared to the fire tearing through my chest.

This was the man I gave everything to. The man who promised to love me forever.

And here he was, parading his mistress in my home.

Tears spilled again. I wiped them away quickly, forcing myself to focus. I couldn’t break down. Not tonight. A guest was coming, and I couldn’t ruin the meals.

So I swallowed my sobs, tightened my grip on the spoon, and turned back to the stove.

Because what else could I do?

I was his wife. His forgotten, discarded wife.