Chapter 3: Sign It

Sarah

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the ground floor, but Sarah didn’t move immediately.

For a few seconds, she just sat there, shaking, her tears falling freely now, her world rearranging itself into something unrecognizable.

Then, slowly, she pushed herself up.

By the time the doors opened again, her face was composed.

But inside, something had already started to break beyond repair.

The drive home felt like moving through someone else’s life.

The road stretched endlessly in front of her, familiar streets blurring past as her mind slipped backward, pulled by a gravity she couldn’t fight.

The help.

The word echoed again, dragging memories with it.

She was the maid’s daughter.

She had grown up in the Sterling household, not as family, not even as staff exactly—but as something in between. Invisible when convenient. Useful when needed.

She remembered the floors most clearly.

Cold marble under her knees, the faint lines running through the stone that she had memorized over the years because she spent so much time staring at them while she scrubbed.

She remembered the smell of cleaning chemicals, sharp enough to sting her nose, clinging to her skin long after the work was done.

She remembered watching Julian from a distance back then—before he ever knew her name—when he still smiled easily, when Genevieve Sinclair was always at his side.

Perfect. Untouchable. Everything Sarah could never be.

And then Genevieve left.

Just like that.

Walked away from him like he was nothing.

Sarah tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

She remembered what came after even more clearly.

The silence in the house.

The late nights.

The bottles.

The way Julian had unraveled slowly, quietly, like a man determined not to let anyone see him bleed.

Except she had seen.

Because she had been there.

She had been the one holding the basin when he drank too much and couldn’t make it to the bathroom. The one who changed the sheets when he didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. The one who made sure there was always food, even when he refused to eat.

She had been there for all of it.

Not Genevieve.

Not anyone else.

Her throat tightened painfully.

And somehow… that had turned into a marriage.

Not a love story.

An arrangement.

Julian’s mother noticed her and grew fond of her, she loved her for the way she took care of her son and she pushed for her to be a wife to Julian.

Sarah had agreed.

At first for her family, Julian’s mother decided to clear all her fathers debt as incentive to marry Julian

But somewhere along the way, she had made the mistake of falling in love with him.

And for a while—just a while—she thought he had chosen her too.

By the time she pulled into the house, the sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows across the driveway.

She stepped inside slowly, the silence pressing in around her.

For a moment, she just stood there, letting it settle.

Then she moved.

The shower water ran hot, almost too hot, but she didn’t turn it down. She let it hit her skin, hoping—irrationally—that it might wash something away.

Genevieve’s voice.

Julian’s silence.

That single word.

Help.

“I’m not…” she whispered, her voice unsteady, pressing her forehead against the tiled wall. “I’m not just…”

But the rest didn’t come.

Because standing there, stripped of everything, she didn’t know what she was anymore.

By the time she stepped out, her head had stopped pounding —just slightly.

Not healed.

Not even stable.

But grasping.

Maybe there was an explanation.

Julian had said they would talk.

Maybe she had misunderstood.

Maybe—

Hope, fragile and dangerous, slipped back in.

She held onto it.

She had to.

In the kitchen, she moved automatically, pulling out ingredients, measuring, stirring, tasting—actions her body knew even when her mind felt scattered.

She had to do something

Jollof rice and Suya chicken.

His favorite meal

The familiar smells filled the house, wrapping around her like something solid, something real.

If she could just make things normal again…

If she could just remind him—

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made her heart jump.

Her pulse quickened as she wiped her hands and turned toward the door.

It opened.

Julian stepped in.

He didn’t pause.

Didn’t look at her.

Didn’t look at the table.

He walked in like this was just another night, loosening his tie, his expression calm, detached—completely unaffected by everything that had happened.

“Julian—” she started, her voice soft, uncertain.

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder, dropping it onto the table with a sharp, final sound that cut through the room.

Sarah’s words died instantly.

“Since you saw Genevieve today,” he said, his tone flat, almost bored, “there’s no point pretending anymore.”

Her stomach tightened.

Pretending?

“Let’s make this simple.”

Simple, what was this man saying?

As if three years of marriage could be reduced to something that easy.

“Sign it.”

Her hands felt strangely numb as she reached for the folder, pulling it toward her with slow, unsteady fingers.

For a second, she just stared at it.

Then she opened it.

The words hit her all over again.

DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Her fingers curled into her palm instead, nails pressing into her skin.

And standing there, with divorce papers in her hands and his child growing inside her—

She realized something that hurt more than everything else combined.

She had never really been his choice.