The call came just as I was hurrying to the parent-teacher meeting—a shrill voice of reprimand from Grace's teacher.
“Mrs. Hill, you neither attend, nor did you notify us. This is unacceptable!”
Apologies spilled from my lips as I fumbled for an explanation. Hanging up, I called Leonard immediately.
It took three tries before he picked up. His tone was sharp, impatient. “What now?”
I tried to explain the situation, hoping for some accountability, but he cut me off.
“You gave birth to two burdens and neither of them is a boy to carry my family name. Now you’re disturbing me over this nonsense?”
The venom in his words was familiar, but this time it struck deeper.
My silence was my only shield. I hung up and drove to the villa, every mile amplifying my disappointment in him.
When I arrived, Grace’s little face was waiting at the door, her smile faltering as she met my eyes.
“Mom, can’t we change Dad?” she asked, her voice heartbreakingly innocent.
The question hung in the air, an echo of the silent despair I had carried for years.
My father’s voice on the phone dragged me from my reverie, his words sharp and unyielding.
“Divorce? And bring two daughters back home? Who would marry a woman with two children?”
I laughed bitterly at his outdated concerns. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll arrange their futures myself. I just want to be free of him.”
His arguments, though fierce, crumbled under the weight of my resolve. He hung up, his disapproval clear, but it didn’t matter.
Opening my phone, I typed a post in my circle of friends.
[Looking for a lawyer. Any recommendations?]
Moments later, I saw a new update from Leonard.
There he was, standing center stage at a grand celebration, arm draped casually around Beth, the Millers’ heiress. Her family had funded the latest round of financing for Leonard’s company.
My chest tightened, but not with jealousy. It was pure exhaustion. I no longer cared what Leonard did, who he entertained, or whose favor he sought. All I wanted was a swift divorce, to take my daughters far from his shadow.
The phone rang again. Leonard’s name flashed on the screen. Against my better judgment, I answered.
His voice was hoarse, tinged with drunkenness. “My dear Carrie,” he slurred, “the house is a mess after the party. No cleaning lady is available. Can you come help me out?”
This old tactic—summoning me with false sweetness, with promises of affection—had worked in the past.
“Please, my wife,” he murmured, his tone once again wrapping itself around me like a serpent.
But this time, the spell was broken.
My love, my patience, my illusions—they were gone. I said nothing, hung up and blocked his number.
Leonard stormed home the next morning, dragging me from bed. His face was a storm cloud of anger and frustration.
“Carrie Richardson, how dare you block me? Do you even know what today is? It’s the ancestor honoring ceremony and you’re acting like a spoiled child! Have you lost your mind?”
His fury barely grazed me. I sat up, meeting his rage with a calm, icy tone. “Why should I and my daughters attend your family’s event? Why don’t you go yourself?”
For a moment, he faltered. Then, softening his tone, he tried again. “This time, you can come, but you’re not allowed to participate in the ceremonies. Just bring the girls.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, hollow and bitter. “Do you think the ancestor honoring ceremony at your precious Hill Family mausoleum is some kind of grand feast I’m desperate to attend?”
His jaw tightened and he said nothing for a long moment. Then his impatience returned. “You have to come. Beth wants to see the ceremony. If she’s satisfied, the company can move forward with its listing. After that, you can ask for whatever you want.”
Ah, so this was about Beth and her family’s money.
It was never about us—never about the daughters he claimed to care for, nor the wife he pretended to respect.
I crossed my arms, a cold smile playing on my lips. “Fine. Bring me the house deed first.”
For once, the silence that followed was his.
