That Friday night, Ethan got home after 10 p.m. Traffic had drained him, and all he wanted was rest. As he stepped inside, laughter filled the living room. A massive TV blared a reality show. His sisters lounged on expensive couches, surrounded by takeout sushi and imported drinks bought with his card. His mother sat comfortably, enjoying a foot massage, completely at ease.
For a second, it looked like a perfect scene.
But Emily wasn’t there.
When he asked, Olivia answered without even looking up from the phone he’d bought her. “She’s in the kitchen, cleaning.”
Ethan walked down the hallway, unaware of what he was about to see. The noise faded behind him. The house grew strangely quiet. A tight pressure built in his chest.
Then he reached the kitchen—and froze.
Emily stood there, eight months pregnant, completely alone.
In front of her was a mountain of dirty dishes, greasy pans, and leftover food. Her hands, red and shaking, were submerged in cloudy water. Her body sagged with exhaustion, her ankles swollen.
And she was crying silently.