Ever since I could remember, my dream had been to hear my dad tell me a bedtime story.
Even if he didn’t tell one—even just quietly tucking me in would have been enough.
But even that had become a luxury.
Seeing my tears fall, Mom pulled me close and cried too.
“I’m sorry, Sophie. It’s all my fault…”
I wiped her tears and whispered, “No, Sophie doesn’t blame Mom. It’s Daddy… Daddy is the one who’s wrong…”
That night, Mom packed our suitcases, determined to take me away.
But as we reached the door, Olivia’s sobbing voice drifted down from upstairs.
“Richard, I never meant to ruin your marriage. I don’t know why this happened. I only came to stay one night, but your wife is making a scene, threatening to leave. Isn’t she just embarrassing me?”
Richard’s gaze turned icy as he looked toward us.
“Linda, stop right there!”
He stormed over and kicked our suitcase to the ground.
Then he barked at Mom:
“Olivia wants a late-night snack. Go make it.”
Mom bit her lip so hard it nearly bled, but she didn’t move.
“Richard, I’m your wife, not your maid.”
He let out a cold laugh.
“Linda, what makes you think you’re worthy of being my wife?”