He stood in the doorway, his face hard. “Since you’re here, clean this up.”
I froze. “No. I’m tired.”
He scoffed. “So what?”
“I’m your mother.”
Jackson laughed bitterly. “Mother? Don’t make me laugh. You’re more of a maid than a mother. Now clean it.” He tossed a towel at me. “And don’t forget the laundry. Our clothes are piling up.”
The towel landed at my feet, heavy as my shame.
I bent down, picking it up slowly. My heart screamed, but my lips only whispered to myself, Just a few more days. And I’ll be gone.
“Mrs. Smith… are you absolutely sure about this? Divorce isn’t something you can take back once you begin. Think of it—twenty-five years of marriage. You’ll be throwing it all away. And… forgive me, but… you will get nothing. No money. No shares. No property. Where will you go?”
Where will I go? The question lingered in the air like a knife pressed against my chest.
For a moment, my heart drifted back—years and years ago—when Oliver wasn’t this monster I now knew.