After concluding the parent-teacher conference for my two daughters, I received a call from my husband, Leonard Hill. His voice was curt yet persuasive.

“Pick them up from the villa immediately,” he instructed. “I don’t want us to be late for my celebration party.”

Rain hammered against the windshield as I navigated the stormy roads. My stomach growled in protest, hunger gnawing at me. Upon reaching the villa, I overheard Leonard and Beth Miller laughing by the door.

“I really envy Mrs. Hill,” Beth gushed. “Marrying a man like you, Mr. Hill—so successful and still attentive to the kids …”

Leonard chuckled softly, the corners of his thin lips curling upward in a practiced smile.

“What can I say? My wife was made to be spoiled. As long as she stays beautiful, I’ll keep working hard.”

The words stung, but there was no time to dwell. That evening, Leonard broached the topic of selling my house—the home I shared with our daughters—to fund his company’s IPO. My refusal was met with icy disdain.

“If you won’t help,” he sneered, “maybe it’s time the girls had a new mother.”

The weight of his words propelled me to action. I pulled open a drawer, retrieved the divorce papers I’d prepared in silent resolve and flung them into his lap.

“A man who parades himself as a loving father yet neglects his children has no right to that title,” I snapped.

Leonard’s mask of control faltered. “Divorce? Carrie, have you thought this through? Do the girls even know what you’re about to do?”

I didn’t answer. My eyes drifted to the rain-soaked night outside, its darkness mirroring the turmoil within.

Earlier, the rain had soaked through my clothes as I arrived at the villa. Inside, the warmth was suffocating, the air filled with clinking glasses and laughter. Leonard stood at the center of the grand lobby, surrounded by well-dressed guests raising their champagne flutes in his honor.

Amid the festivities, Grace, our eldest, tugged at Leonard’s sleeve. “Dad, don’t drink too much. We need to go to the family mausoleum tomorrow.”

The crowd fell silent, offering murmured apologies.

Beth turned to Leonard, her curiosity piqued.

“To honor the ancestors? Can daughters even enter the mausoleum?”

Grace tilted her head in confusion, her innocence making my heart ache. Leonard quickly silenced her with a reassuring pat on the head.

“Our family doesn’t cling to outdated ideas about boys being more important than girls,” he declared smoothly.

The memory of being left outside the mausoleum while Leonard performed these ceremonies alone resurfaced, bitter and sharp. His hypocrisy was suffocating.

Noticing me in the shadows, Leonard broke away from the crowd with his polished charm. “Everyone, enjoy yourselves. I’ll be back shortly.”

But he didn’t introduce me to his guests or acknowledge the hours I’d spent shivering in the rain. Instead, he gathered our daughters and ushered us toward the door.

Outside, the cold cut through me as Leonard thrust our youngest daughter into my arms and turned to Grace with a dismissive glare.

“Why are you so late? I’ve had to look after your children all day,” he complained, his polished suit belying his cruel demeanor.

“Leonard,” I began, my voice trembling, “why did you miss Grace’s parent-teacher meeting? You promised her.”

His brows furrowed in irritation. “I’m busy keeping this family afloat. Can’t you handle a simple meeting without dragging me into it?”

His disdainful gaze swept over my rain-slicked face. “And look at you—soaked and pathetic. Just leave. You’re embarrassing me.”

The door slammed behind him, leaving us to face the unrelenting rain. The biting wind wrapped around us like a merciless shroud.

“Mom, I’m so cold …” Grace whispered, her small body trembling as she clung to me.

I held my youngest close, her small form warm but oblivious in her slumber. Grace, my brave nine-year-old, shivered behind me, her tiny hands clutching my damp coat.

Leonard remained inside, cocooned in luxury, while his family endured the storm.

I knelt in the rain and looked into Grace’s tear-filled eyes. My voice was steady, though my heart broke.

“Grace, do you still want this man to be your father?”

Yesterday, Leonard came home unexpectedly after a long absence. His return was as sudden as it was rare.

Both our daughters lit up with joy. Their laughter echoed through the house as they rushed to show him their final exam papers, proudly boasting perfect scores.

But Leonard barely glanced at them. He tossed the papers aside with a distracted air and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Sofia, our youngest, tugged at my sleeve, her eyes welling with tears. “Does Dad not love me?” she asked in a trembling voice.

My heart broke, but I forced a reassuring smile and lifted her into my arms. Stroking her hair gently, I repeated the lie I had told so many times before.

“No, sweetheart. Dad is just very busy and tired.”

Sofia wiped her tears and nodded, accepting my words without question.

Grace, our eldest, wasn’t so easily pacified. Her expression was serious as she crossed her arms and declared, “Mom, that’s not true. Dad hasn’t been home in a year. The last time he came was just to grab something—he didn’t even have dinner with us.”

Her words stung because they were true. I sighed and went to confront Leonard.

Leonard was fresh out of the shower, water dripping from his hair, his shirt hanging loosely, exposing his well-defined chest. He still had the physique of the man I married nine years ago, though the charm had long since worn thin.

He looked at me with a practiced smile. “What’s wrong, Carrie?” he asked, his tone light.

I ignored his attempt to disarm me. “Leonard, you need to have dinner with us tonight. The girls miss you.”

To my surprise, he agreed easily. “Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his damp hair. “I’m not going anywhere tonight. Let’s have dinner as a family.”

That evening, for the first time in two years, the four of us sat down to a proper meal. Laughter filled the room and for a moment, it felt like we were a family again.

Grace, emboldened by the rare closeness, looked at Leonard with hopeful eyes. “Dad, Sofia and I have a parent-teacher meeting tomorrow. Mom can’t go by herself. Will you come?”

I froze, my chopsticks suspended mid-air. I was about to signal Leonard to decline gently when he surprised me again.

“Of course,” he said, smiling warmly. “I’ll be there on time.”

I couldn’t believe it. Leonard, who couldn’t be bothered to watch a cartoon with the girls, was now agreeing to attend a parent-teacher meeting. For a fleeting moment, I dared to hope he had changed.

Later that night, Leonard slid into bed beside me. His hand crept under the covers, his breath warm against my ear. “Carrie,” he murmured, “I need to discuss something with you.”

I turned to face him, the dim light catching the sharp lines of his face. “What is it?”

His tone was soft, almost pleading. “The company is struggling to raise enough funds to go public. I need your help—can we sell the house?”

My heart sank. I pulled away, my voice cold and firm. “No. This house is our home, the only place the girls and I feel secure.”

Leonard’s eyes darkened, but he quickly recovered. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he whispered, “Alright, alright. If you don’t want to sell it, we won’t. I work hard to provide for you and the girls. If my wife says no, then no it is.”

Despite his words, I couldn’t shake the sense of unease that lingered in the air.

By the time I woke the next morning, Leonard was gone. The space beside me in the bed was cold.

A sudden thought gripped me and I rushed to the cabinet where I kept the house deed. My hands trembled as I opened the file.

It was empty.

The reality hit me like a punch to the gut. Leonard had taken the deed. The betrayal felt like a stone sinking in my chest.

There wasn’t time to confront him. I had work to attend to and a parent-teacher meeting for Sofia after that.

As I rushed out the door, my disappointment in Leonard reached a depth I hadn’t thought possible. The man who had smiled so warmly at our daughters just hours ago had, once again, put his own interests above his family.

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.