The Last Glass

Chapter Two – The Last Glass

Alina POV

I didn’t sleep all night.

I just laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the silence in the room press down on me like a heavy blanket. He was sleeping beside me, snoring softly, like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t break me just hours ago.

I turned my face away and let the tears fall on the pillow.

Again.

Another woman. Another lie. Another night of pretending like everything was fine.

My hands were shaking, but I placed them over my stomach, trying to calm myself. “Marriage is for better or worse,” I whispered into the dark. “For richer or poorer… in sickness and in health…”

I had made vows.

I told myself I wasn’t a quitter. That women stayed and fought. That love could still win, even when it was bleeding.

He’s just confused, I thought. He’s just going through something… maybe if I remind him who I am—remind him I’m not just a woman in the kitchen—maybe he’ll see me again.

Maybe he’d remember the woman he married.

The next morning, I dressed carefully.

I wore the gold earrings he bought me for our anniversary last year. I tied my hair neatly. I sprayed a soft perfume—the one he used to like.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were tired. My face was pale.

But I forced a smile.

Today would be different.

I would talk to him. I would make him see me again.

I stepped out of the room and walked to the living room slowly. I heard the gate open.

My heart jumped. He’s back.

Maybe he left his meeting early. Maybe he missed me.

I stood by the door and waited for him to walk in.

And then I saw her.

Her heels touched the tiles first. Red. Sharp. Expensive.

Then came her legs, long and smooth. Her dress was tight, short, and clung to every curve.

She was laughing.

Behind her, my husband walked in, holding her handbag like a servant.

And then he saw me.

He blinked once, like he forgot I lived here. Then looked away.

“Welcome,” I said, barely able to speak.

She turned to me, eyes full of mockery. “Oh, is this your maid?” she asked him, then laughed before he could answer. “No, wait. I forgot. Wife. The famous stay-at-home wife.”

I stood frozen. My heart thudded in my chest like a drum.

She walked closer, looked me up and down, then smirked. “Hmm. So this is who you left me waiting in the car for? Wow. I was expecting more. You’re really just a wife by name, aren’t you?”

I looked at him.

He didn’t say a word.

No correction. No defense.

Just silence.

Then he looked at me like I was nothing and said, “Bring food. Make enough for two.”

I stared at him, my eyes wide. “You want me to cook… for you and her?”

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Did I stutter?”

The world spun around me.

I walked into the kitchen like a ghost, not even sure my legs were moving. I could barely breathe.

The tears came again, hot and fast. I wiped them with the back of my hand. My fingers were shaking.

I picked up the rice. I picked up the oil. I started boiling water. I was doing everything like a machine.

Then I saw it. His favorite plate.

A glass one. A very rare, expensive one. The one he never let the maids touch. He said it was his lucky plate. He only used it when he wanted to celebrate something.

I held it in my hands and stared.

And suddenly, I couldn’t hold it anymore.

The sobs broke out of me like a dam. Loud, painful, choking sobs.

"I can't do this," I cried, speaking to myself. "I can't pretend anymore."

I glared at the plate. "You don't even notice I'm around any more. I'm invisible in this house. A shadow with a name .

I clutched the plate tightly, pressing my fingers into the chilled glass.

"He doesn't love me. He doesn't even respect me," I whispered. "But yet I'm still here, sacrificing my life to feed him and his tart."

I lifted the plate gingerly.

"My mother didn't raise me for this."

I cried and tears blurred my eyesight, but I didn't stop.

"I'd rather be independent and alone… than be a billion-dollar wife without worth."

My hand slipped suddenly. The plate fell.

Crash!

The glass broke all over the ground, cold and sharp like a bullet.

I stood there stock still.

Then fear hit me like freezing water.

He cannot hear. He cannot come here to see this.

Without thinking, I ran.

I sprinted out of the kitchen, across the dining room, through the hallway, my slippers skidding on the tile floor.

I didn't pull out a pin.

I didn't pick up a phone.

I simply ran.

My heart was in my throat. I had no idea where I was headed. I simply knew I needed to escape before he caught sight of what I'd done… before he dragged me back into that gilded cage of silence.

The gate was also left open from when we came in.

I pushed it and kept on running.

The morning sun on my face, and for the first time in a very long time…

I felt the wind.

I was still sobbing.

But this time… it wasn't because I was weak.

It was because I was free.