My Real Life Began After I Left You

In the ninth year after I married Charlie Lockwood, he brings his first love, Cecilia Moore, back home.

She is gentle, beautiful, and understanding. Everyone treasures her like she is some precious gem.

Right under my nose, Charlie begins to develop feelings for her. The household gradually comes under her control. Even my two children, whom I cherish dearly, would rather have Cecilia as their mother.

Just when I am completely disheartened, I discover my true identity. With how things are in the Lockwood household now, there is no longer anything here that is worth staying back for.

Without hesitation, I file for divorce and return home to take over my family business.

I was packing up to head home when Dakota Lockwood burst into the room as soon as she returned from school. She stopped short when she saw the bandage wrapped around my hand.

For a split second, she froze before her face twisted with open disgust. "Mom, you have to apologize to Cecilia. She only went in your place to watch my speech competition, yet you tampered with her food.

"She had to get her stomach pumped several times. If you don't apologize, I don't want you as my mom anymore."

I glanced at her, detached, as if this were just another low-stakes negotiation. "Fine. Then don't."

Dakota choked on my response, clearly thrown off. Then, she doubled down, her tone sharpening into a provocative edge. "In art class today, the teacher told us to draw our moms, but I drew Cecilia instead."

There was a time I thought Dakota was an angel sent just for me, but now…

"She'll be your mom soon anyway," I said coldly. "Looks like your wish is about to come true."

The ungrateful brat standing before me was my very own daughter. I still remembered that accident where I took the hit for her and ended up critically injured, one step away from losing my life.

After it was all over, my husband, Charlie Lockwood, consulted a fortune teller, who then said Dakota's birth chart was seen as unfavorable. The point was that Charlie wanted to send her away.

Even then, I dragged my injured body to confront him. "I'll take down anyone who tries to take my daughter away from me!"

Charlie backed off in the face of that kind of hardline stance. The deal was dropped, but he never invested in her. In his view, raising a girl was simple. She just had to grow up and marry well—that was it.

I, on the other hand, didn't buy into that patriarchal thinking. I was set on building her up properly so she would never be at anyone's mercy.

Dakota had shown real interest in painting, so I leveraged my network and brought in a top-tier international artist as her private coach.

She was starting to gain traction, even making a name for herself in international youth art competitions. The growth curve was clear. Then, Cecilia Moore entered the picture.

"Kids should have a happy childhood," she said. "We, as adults, shouldn't dump our unfinished dreams onto them."

Under the banner of caring, Cecilia shut down the whole program. The lessons stopped. The practice pipeline was cut off. Like a slap in the face, Dakota was actually grateful for it.

"Mom only pushed me to learn art for her reputation," she said. "Cecilia's the one who actually cares about me."

Cecilia even took her out shopping and for manicures. I told her Dakota was still too young, that the chemicals weren't good for her skin. To that, Dakota only grew more annoyed.

"You're just upset because Cecilia is prettier than you. Now that I want to be pretty, too, you're jealous of us. I know why you're insecure. It's because you lost your memory, and you don't even know where you come from.

"So, you use me as a tool to compete for attention."

I knew exactly where those lines came from. Cecilia had scripted them, and with Charlie enabling it, Dakota felt fully backed to say whatever she wanted.

At that point, hearing Dakota defend Cecilia time and again didn't even hurt me anymore.

"Koda, how can you talk to your mother like that?"

Charlie pushed the door open and walked in. He had clearly heard everything.

On the surface, it sounded like a reprimand, but the tone was performative. I knew there was no real accountability behind it.