Part 4

Rowena never liked me.

From the very first day I met her, her gaze was cold—assessing, dismissive—as if I were something dirty that had been dragged into her home.

I still remember the soft scoff that slipped from her lips when she learned what I did for a living. A shop assistant.

And the way she compared me to Dominic’s exes—women with “proper” careers, more “class,” more worth.

Back then, I only smiled. Swallowed it all down. Hoping… that one day, she would see me differently.

If I were patient enough. Kind enough. Perfect enough.

Our wedding was simple. Not because we couldn’t afford more, but because I had no family. No one to invite.

Rowena used that as an excuse.

And I… accepted it. Without protest.

On my wedding day, the only person by my side was Daisy Beaumont.

My best friend. My family.

That day, Daisy had openly disapproved of my marriage to Dominic. She told me that if I were just a little more patient, I could find someone better—someone wealthier—and gain in-laws who would truly love me. Not like Rowena. Not like Amelia.

But I believed things would get better with time.

To me, as long as Dominic loved me, didn’t cheat on me, and never treated me harshly, that was enough. A simple life with the right person could feel like heaven—that was what my late parents had taught me.

So yes… I believed in Dominic.

Our first year passed, and I became pregnant with our first daughter.

The pregnancy was smooth, almost effortless. Both Dominic and I awaited her arrival with excitement.

I knew Dominic and Rowena wanted a son—an heir to carry on the Pierce name—but I wasn’t God. I couldn’t choose the gender of my child.

After Chelsea was born, it was as if fortune began to favor us in waves.

At Rowena and Dominic’s request, I quit my job at the mall. Rowena claimed she couldn’t handle caring for the baby, and Dominic wanted me to focus on the family. Besides, he said our financial situation had improved.

Not long after Chelsea was born, Dominic was promoted to Leasing Manager.

His salary increased.

His status rose.

We had been living in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city—two cramped bedrooms, low rent, nothing more than what we needed. Then we moved to something more… respectable.

Still two bedrooms, but larger. A wider living room. A balcony with a view of the city. And of course, a much higher rent.

Dominic started earning more.

And along with it, his lifestyle began to change.

He took out a loan for a brand-new car—not just for himself, but for his younger sister as she was coming of age.

I never questioned how Dominic chose to spend his money. I never asked for more than what we had. As long as our needs were met, as long as my children lacked nothing, that was enough for me.

I never demanded anything more.

And maybe… that was where I went wrong.

I trusted too easily.

I settled too easily.

Then I became pregnant again—our second daughter.

And even though he never said it outright, I knew Dominic was disappointed. He and Rowena still wanted a son. An heir to carry on the family name.

But once again, it wasn’t something I could control. No matter how carefully I followed the doctor’s advice, adjusted my diet, did everything I was told—God still gave me another daughter.

Elena.

But Dominic’s disappointment didn’t last long.

He was promoted again.

Head of Leasing.

A bigger salary. Better benefits. A higher status.

And after that… everything changed.

We left the apartment behind, and Dominic began paying off a house in a gated luxury cluster. It was no longer just a place to live.

It was a symbol.

A statement.

Status.

I didn’t mind the change in lifestyle, though sometimes I feared it would take away the simple, grounded man Dominic used to be.

And when he said he wanted Rowena to move in with us—since Amelia had gone away for college—I didn’t object.

I simply nodded.

Accepted it.

Adjusted.

Tried, in every way I could, to make Rowena see that I was a good daughter-in-law.

Even while I was breastfeeding Elena, I still managed the house.

Everything in it.

Including Rowena.

But for her, it was never enough.

The barbed remarks never stopped. Subtle, but sharp.

Every time her friends came over, she never missed a chance to humiliate me—telling them how my life had changed after marrying her son. How I, an orphaned former shop assistant, now lived in a luxurious house, ate fine, expensive food, and even had a maid.

Without working hard. Without spending a single penny.

While she—Rowena in her youth—had struggled to raise her son and daughter alone, working tirelessly with no one by her side.

I swallowed every insult with a smile, still clinging to the hope that one day, she would treat me kindly. That she would accept me… and my daughters.

What she didn’t know was that I carried a secret.

A secret I had guarded closely all this time. A secret that—if it ever came to light—would change the way she saw me.

Change the way she treated me.

Maybe it would make her regret everything.

Or perhaps… it would leave her utterly speechless.

And I realized, at some point, exactly when everything had truly begun to change.

Not when I failed to give her a grandson.

Not when I stopped working.

But…

When I got sick.

When I was diagnosed with stomach cancer.

I still remember that day.

Too clearly.

Too painfully.

I sat there, shattered, trying to process the truth—that my own body had betrayed me. That my life might not be as long as I had imagined. That I might… never get to watch my daughters grow up.

I was afraid.

Terrified.

Who would take care of Chelsea and Elena when I was gone? There was no guarantee Rowena would love them—after all, she had always wanted grandsons.

Fear swallowed me whole. I longed for words of comfort.

But what I received instead…

Was anger.

“How could you get cancer?” she demanded sharply, looking at me as if I had committed an unforgivable sin.

At the time, I told myself it was just shock. That she was struggling to accept the reality—just like I was.

“This must be because you never took care of your diet,” she went on without pause.

I stayed silent. I wanted to argue, but no words came out.

I didn’t even know why this had happened to me. I hadn’t asked for it.

“Do you have any idea how expensive chemotherapy is?” Her voice rose.

That was when I began to understand.

It wasn’t my illness that made her angry. It wasn’t denial. It wasn’t fear of losing me. It wasn’t concern for my children growing up without a mother.

It was the cost.

“You’re going to drain Dominic’s money,” she said coldly. “He works hard—not to pay for your treatment.”

My chest felt hollow, so empty I didn’t know whether to cry or be angry.

I was terrified of dying. Terrified of leaving everything behind. Elena was still breastfeeding—what would happen to her if I were gone? Who would take care of her?

But all Rowena cared about… was money.

Money?

“I don’t care,” she went on. “Dominic needs to limit how much he spends on your treatment.” Every word cut like a blade. “The rest—you can figure out yourself.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“Don’t you have that rich friend of yours?” A thin, mocking smile curled on her lips. “That Beaumont girl?”

Daisy.

She didn’t even know I was sick. If she did…

“Ask her to help cover your treatment.”

And in that moment, I finally understood.

I had never been family to her. Not once.

That entire night, I cried—silently.

I was disappointed. Not just in them, but in myself.

What I needed then was so simple.

A warm embrace. A few words telling me everything would be okay.

Someone to reassure me that I would get through it.

That I would recover. That I would live.

But instead, I was met with the opposite.

Harsh words. Disgusted looks.

And treatment as if I no longer mattered.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Because after the chemotherapy began—when my body started to weaken, when my hair fell out, when my strength slowly faded—Rowena began talking about something else.

An heir.

I knew she wanted a grandson. I knew how important that was to her.

But… couldn’t she see me?

See what I was going through?

See that I was fighting… just to stay alive?

“Can she even give you another child after this? I heard chemotherapy can make a woman infertile.”

That voice.

I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but their conversation was too clear to ignore.

I froze behind the door. Waiting. Afraid.

“Mom, she’s sick. Don’t talk about that right now,” Dominic said, his voice tired. “Besides, Chelsea and Elena are enough for me.”

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, relief washed over me.

At least… he was still on my side.

At least… he still cared.

And back then, that was enough.

That small, fragile piece of love became the reason I could endure everything—the pain, the humiliation, the slow unraveling of my life.

But now…

Looking back, I can see the cracks.

The things I chose to ignore.

Was everything really because I got sick?

Because I could no longer be what he wanted in bed?

Was that why he grew dissatisfied… and started trying to push me out?