Return Of The Abandoned Wife

Seven

The next morning, I descended the stairs slowly, the weight of my decisions pressing on every step. The suitcase in my hand felt heavier than it should’ve been, filled only with a few clothes and fading pieces of my past.

It was early, too early, the sky was beginning to lighten in the east. Dawn was on its way. I didn’t want anyone from the Reed estate, this wasn’t a departure that needed witnesses or explanations. It was just me, leaving quietly.

At the front door, I paused and looked back one last time.

There was no dramatic music, no apology from Jaxon echoing down the stairs—just silence.

Maybe that was fitting.

I looked up at the sky.

It was the same sky I’d looked at as a child, standing outside the orphanage with nothing but a handful of dreams and a heart full of hope.

Maybe it was time to find her again, that girl. The one who believed she could make something beautiful of her life, even after all the pain.

Harold the driver, an older man with kind eyes who had been working for the Reeds for years, looked up as I stepped outside onto the paved driveway.

“Going somewhere, ma’am?” he asked gently.

I hesitated, offering him a small, tired smile. “Just a short trip.”

He didn’t question me further, only nodded and opened the back door of the car like he always did. My heart thudded dully in my chest as I got in. I hadn’t slept much the night before. I had stared at the ceiling for hours, wondering where exactly my life had gone wrong, and where I was supposed to go now.

I didn’t have all the answers, but I knew I needed to breathe again. And there was only one place I could think of, the only place that ever truly felt like home. I wasn’t planning to stay there. I just… I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to the most important people in my life.

I didn’t even know where to start from. Where does a woman begin when her life collapses around her like a house of cards?

“Take me to Mother Immaculate Home,” I told Harold softly. “The orphanage on Third Street.”

His brows rose slightly in surprise, but again, he said nothing. He simply nodded and started the car.

As we drove, I leaned my head against the window, watching the world pass by in a blur. Memories clawed their way to the surface. Laughter in sunlit gardens, the scent of fresh bread from the kitchen, soft lullabies sung by gentle nuns when nightmares wouldn’t let me sleep.

Mother Immaculate was more than an orphanage, it was home. The only home I had before everything changed.

The orphanage came into view after driving for a few minutes. My breath caught in my throat.

The building stood just as it had when I was a child, old, weathered, and still full of stories. The gray bricks were stained by decades of rain and sun, and the arched wooden doors creaked as the wind blew. It looked like it belonged in another century, and in many ways, it did. Built before the First World War, it had once been slated for demolition when the church could no longer afford to keep it running. But Sister Agnes, dear, stubborn Sister Agnes, had taken out a personal loan and bought the place. She couldn’t bear to see us scattered to the wind.

And none of us could ever forget that.

I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, the scent of lavender and old books washing over me. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” I told the driver. He gave me a short nod and leaned back in his seat, pulling out a paperback to read.

Pushing open the doors, I was immediately greeted by the familiar warmth of the place, not from the heater, which barely worked most days, but from the familiar scent of old wood, books, and the faintest trace of lavender soap. Children’s laughter echoed down the hall, and the nuns bustled about, pausing only to smile and wave as they noticed me.

“Mary Jane!” One of the sisters exclaimed. “Look at you, child. It’s been too long!” surprise lighting her face before she came over to embrace me.

“Hello, sister Mary. I came to see Sister Agnes.” I said. As I hugged her.

“Go ahead child she must be awake.”

A few children peeked around the corner, whispering to each other. Some were in class, others were clearly in trouble for sneaking out. It was like stepping back in time. I walked slowly through the familiar hallway, running my fingers along the peeling paint on the walls. Every corner of this place held memories.

I walked down the familiar hallway, my shoes echoing softly on the worn floors. Near the infirmary, I spotted the nurse on duty, Sister Clara, still wearing her little round glasses and a slightly crooked cross pinned to her chest.

“Is she awake?” I asked softly.

She didn’t need me to explain who I meant.

“She is,” Sister Clara said. “She’s weaker now… but alert today. You can go in.”

My chest tightened as I made my way to Sister Agnes’s room. The door was ajar, and the soft beeping of hospice machines filled the air. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep out the harsh sun. The air was thick with the scent of lavender oil and antiseptic. Sister Agnes lay on the bed, her once rosy complexion now pale and thin. Her once full cheeks now sunken. The years had stolen her strength, and cancer was now trying to steal what little she had left.

But when her eyes met mine they still held the same spark.

“Mary Jane…” she breathed, her voice raspy but filled with warmth.

“Mary Jane,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

I hurried to her side and sat in the chair next to her bed and took her hand in mine, the coolness of her skin sending a shiver through me. “Hi, Sister.”

“I haven’t seen you for some time.” She said.

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong, child?” she asked, gently brushing her thumb across my knuckles. “I can see it in your eyes.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Jaxon divorced me.” I couldn’t hold back my tears.

Her eyes didn’t widen in shock. She simply nodded, like she had seen it coming all along.

“But I didn’t push him away,” I added quickly, desperate to explain. “I tried. I really tried.”

“I know you did,” she said softly. “You’ve always given everything, even when there was nothing left to give.”

“I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “ I packed my things. I can’t stay in that house any longer. It’s not my home. It never was.”

Sister Agnes was silent for a moment. Then she lifted a trembling hand and pressed the call button.

Moments later, twister Clara entered. “You called, Sister?”

“Please go to my room,” she instructed. “In the closet, there’s a wooden box. Bring it to me.”

Sister Clara nodded and left, leaving us alone in the quiet hum of the machines. I turned to Sister Agnes in confusion.

“You’re a wonderful woman, Mary Jane,” Sister Agnes said. “And I need you to stop doubting that. Do you know how proud I am of you? How proud we all are of you?”

I looked away, blinking quickly. “I don’t feel very proud. I feel… lost.”

She squeezed my hand with surprising strength. “Sometimes getting lost is the first step to finding something real.”

The nurse returned a few minutes later with the box, a small, carved thing made of cherry wood. It looked old but well-kept, the surface polished to a warm shine. She placed it gently on Sister Catherine’s lap.

“Thank you, child,” the nun said, then reached inside her pocket and pulled out a tiny key.

As she opened the box, I noticed photographs and old letters tucked inside. A few rosaries, a pressed flower, and what looked like a yellowing ribbon from some long-forgotten fair.

My fingers brushed over a black-and-white photo of a much younger Sister Catherine. She was radiant, laughing beside a horse in a sunflower field.

“You were beautiful,” I whispered, and she chuckled.

“I was hot,” she corrected with a wink, and I laughed despite myself.

She dug around in the box for a moment longer and finally pulled out a small bundle of papers and envelopes. “This,” she said, holding it out to me, “is the deed to a small house in Texas. A quiet town, nothing fancy. But it’s peaceful. I had it for years—the summers are wonderful.”

I stared at her, stunned. “Sister, I can’t…”

“You can,” she interrupted firmly. “It’s my family home, I received it from my father and mother after they passed. “

My eyes widened. “Sister, no—I don’t want anything,” I said quickly. “I didn’t come here for help. I just needed to see you.”

She cut me off with a stern look. “You will take it. I made sure every one of you had a home, and I’m not about to let you wander the world with nowhere to land. This is your fresh start.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered.

She smiled gently. “Now I can rest in peace even when I die. Knowing you’ll be okay.”

She reached into a small leather pouch inside the box and took out a rolled-up bundle of old cash. “Fifteen hundred dollars. It’s not much, but it’ll help. And don’t even think of refusing.”

I pressed my forehead to hers and kissed her gently. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll take this photo with me,” I said showing her the photo of her younger self.

She chuckled again. “Take it I don’t mind. Let the world know I was once irresistible.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Live a good life,” she said simply. “That’s all the thanks I need. Let me go in peace, knowing you’re safe and free.”

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’ll miss you.”

She reached for my hand one last time. “Go. Start over. Find joy again, even if it feels impossible right now. You deserve it.”

And in that quiet room, surrounded by fading memories and an overwhelming sense of loss and hope, I finally felt the first flicker of strength spark in my heart.