It started the night my husband forgot my birthday.
Not forgot like he was busy or tired. Forgot like I never existed. He didn’t come home, didn’t call, didn’t even bother lying. Just silence.
So I dressed up in the new red lingerie he never saw, poured myself a drink, and cried quietly in the corner of his cold, lifeless house.
That’s when his father showed up.
I’d never been alone with him before—not really. The few family dinners we had were awkward, quiet. I was the young girl his son married too fast. The one everyone whispered about behind polite smiles.
But tonight, when he walked in unannounced with that expensive watch and deep voice, something changed.
He stopped when he saw me—my thighs out, robe barely tied, the glass in my hand half-empty and my heart entirely broken.
“
