Chapter 2

Steven glanced at the papers, scoffed, and brushed past me without a word.

I couldn't even remember when he stopped talking to me.

Back when we were in love, he couldn't shut up.

When I flew out for a trial once, he stayed on the phone all night—just to hear me fall asleep.

Now?

He couldn't even spare a single word.

I finally got it.

This relationship had rotted a long time ago.

Anton frowned, pure disgust on his face.

"You're too old for this drama. If you wanna leave, go. You two old women won't last a day without me and Dad."

I never thought the kid I raised would turn into a knife aimed straight at me.

That was it.

Steven and Anton had cut the last thread.

I was done.

But I needed money to walk.

So I "accidentally" spilled milk on Anton.

He freaked and bolted to his room.

I grabbed his wallet and keys from his jacket.

Maya and I hopped in his car and left.

Goodbye to the house I'd kept spotless for fifty years.

The cash we swiped from Anton barely covered a small apartment.

After rent, we had just enough to scrape by for a few months.

Maya and I had both been housewives.

No jobs, no backup. Time to figure things out.

I told her I was retaking the bar exam.

The life I gave up for Steven and Anton?

I was taking it back.

Maya's eyes lit up.

"That's so cool, Erica. A seventy-year-old lawyer—every woman would be proud of you."

I smiled. "What about you?"

She looked down, fiddling with her hands.

"Honestly... I don't know. If I said I like making desserts and taking care of people, would you think I'm useless?"

Maya wasn't like me.

I gave up my career because I loved Steven too much.

She loved taking care of people.

Anton once promised he'd open a dessert shop for her when she quit her job.

Then he said her food sucked and bailed.

"Of course not, Maya. No one's useless. Even housewives have value."

Without us keeping everything together, Steven and Anton wouldn't have gotten anywhere.

Maya broke down, hugging me tight.

We cried in each other's arms.

Not for them.

For us.

The phone rang, cutting through the silence.

Anton's name lit up.

Even after everything, a tiny part of me still hoped—he was my son.

I picked up.

Anton's voice exploded through the speaker.

"What are you two doing? You were already out of line this morning, and now there's no dinner?"

Steven jumped in.

"Where'd you take Maya? Didn't I tell you to take care of Fiona?"

And just like that, the last bit of hope snapped.

We'd been gone one day.

All they cared about was dinner. Fiona.

Not once did they ask if we were okay.

They just assumed we'd come crawling back and keep serving them like nothing happened.

And I kept thinking—what gave them the nerve?

Then it hit me.

We did.

Our love. Our tolerance. Our silence.

It made them bold enough to keep hurting us.

They started yelling:

"Anton and I are taking Fiona out for dinner. You two can go hungry and think about what you've done."

"Mom, you've really crossed the line. If there's no breakfast tomorrow, Dad and I are cutting off your allowance until you shape up!"

I'd never been more grateful we left.

Who knows what their next "punishment" would've been?

I stayed calm.

"The divorce papers are on the table. Sign them and come find us. Otherwise, don't contact us again."

Silence.

Then I heard Anton whisper, "What should we do?"

Steven scoffed.

"Ignore them. Just two useless women. They'll come crawling back in a few days."