I slipped out of bed quietly and went straight to the cabinet in the corner of our room—my only safe place. Inside were the few treasures that truly belonged to me. Not the house, not the kitchen, not the endless chores—but little luxuries I managed to buy with money I earned myself.
But when I opened it, my heart lurched. The makeup I’d finally purchased last week—after five long years of selling flowers from my garden—was gone.
Panic rising, I searched every drawer, every box. Empty.
I rushed into the living room where Alaric sat, papers spread across his lap.
“Alaric,” I asked carefully, “did you see the makeup I left in the cabinet?”
Without looking up, he answered, “Oh, those? I gave them to Isolde. She closed that deal with the Japanese investors. Thought she deserved something special.”
The words hit like a blow. “You… gave them away?” My voice cracked. “Alaric, that was mine. I just bought it.”
He finally glanced up, laughing like I’d said something ridiculous. “Yours? Corinne, really? Why waste money on makeup? You’re not going anywhere. You’re too old for that nonsense.”
“Alaric—”
“No, be honest,” he interrupted with a smirk. “Have you seen yourself lately? It doesn’t fit you anymore. But Isolde—she’s different. She works, she deserves it.”
My fists trembled. “It was mine! I saved for it! With my own money!”
He rolled his eyes. “Your money? Corinne, don’t kid yourself. Everything you use comes from me.”
The scream stayed trapped in my chest. He didn’t know—or didn’t care—that I had earned every cent from my garden. From the flowers I grew, cutting, selling, saving under the sun. For five years, I never asked him for a single peso for myself. I waited. I worked. And now it was gone—handed to someone else, as if I didn’t matter.
He sighed. “Stop fussing. I’ll buy you something else.”
“You really don’t care about me,” I whispered.
“You’re being dramatic,” he said coldly. “Think about Isolde. She saved the company. Show some gratitude for once. You wouldn’t understand business anyway. Now quit whining and make me something to eat. I’m hungry.”
The words stung like knives.
I turned away, swallowing the ache in my chest.
“Oh, and Corinne,” he called lazily, “I’ll be gone for a week. Business trip. You can take a break from looking after me.”
I said nothing. Just went to the kitchen. Cooked, as always.
That afternoon, our son and his wife arrived. I smiled automatically—like a mask I’d worn too long. At dinner, they chattered excitedly.
“It’s going to be amazing,” my daughter-in-law beamed. “A cruise ship, top deck, fancy meals, hot springs—everything.”
“I thought it was a business trip,” I said softly.
My son laughed nervously. “Well, business and pleasure. Don’t worry, Mom, we’ll bring you something nice. Maybe a souvenir!”
“A fridge magnet would be great,” I joked weakly. My laugh sounded hollow.
Father shook his head. “If only you knew more about business, you could come along.”
I just nodded, smiling the same empty smile. Pretending didn’t hurt anymore—it was just numbness.
That night, while folding Alaric’s clothes for the trip, his laptop buzzed. I glanced at the screen—and froze.
An email confirmation. A cruise package. Couples’ massages. Candlelight dinners. Honeymoon suite.
My hand shook as I opened the attachment.
A wedding invitation.
Isolde and Alaric.
The words burned into me. Their names in elegant print, inviting the world to celebrate their “union” aboard the St. Clarisse Luxury.
It wasn’t just a trip. It was a betrayal. A celebration. A truth everyone already knew—my son, my father, the family I had dedicated my life to.
And none of them told me.
Tears blurred my sight. Not for the makeup. Not even for the cruise.
But because I had given them everything—my love, my labor, my years—and it meant nothing.
Covering my mouth, I wept in silence. Outside, laughter drifted down the halls as they planned a future where I no longer existed.
