In that moment, I let go of every complaint I had about Samuel. At least he remembered my birthday. At least he brought a gift.

That alone felt like enough.

When he came back out, he held a beautifully wrapped white dress in his hands. Without thinking, I reached out to receive it.

But Samuel walked right past me and placed the dress in Wilma’s arms. “Aunt Wilma, congratulations on officially joining the Writers Association. Your dream finally came true.”

Just like that, all the warmth that had bloomed inside me vanished. Joy turned into something small and pitiful, almost laughable.

Then, Martin smiled mysteriously and said, “I’ve prepared a gift too, guess what it is?"

I didn’t bother to guess. Of course, it was also for Wilma.

The quiet hope I had clung to shattered completely as he pulled out a set of keys and a house deed. "The villa at The Timberline, it’s yours now. Do you like it?"

Everyone knew The Timberline; a luxury estate in Andale, where even the smallest villa cost several million.

Martin was a professor at both Penbrooke and Summit University—well-paid, but not wealthy. This home must have cost him everything.

Even Wilma teared up. “Martin… thank you.”

He smiled and said softly, “No need to say that. My brother left too early. Samuel and I are your family now.”

Samuel nodded, gently holding Wilma’s hand. “Yes, Aunt Wilma. To me, you’ve always been like a mother.”

I watched the three of them embrace warmly, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. And in that moment, my heart turned completely cold.

Samuel, still visibly moved, offered to cut the cake. He carefully placed the slices with the little figurines; one for Martin, one for Wilma.

Before I could say anything, he turned to me and said, "Mom, it’s Aunt Wilma’s big day. Don’t take it the wrong way."

Wilma took a bite, then paused, her expression cooling.

“It’s sweet,” she said slowly. “But the shape…”

Her eyes scanned the pink frosting and little decorations. “It’s a bit vulgar.”

Samuel sighed and threw me a sharp look. “Mom, you know Aunt Wilma doesn’t like these kinds of gaudy colors. Never mind, I’ll order her another one.”

Her new cake arrived swiftly. An elegant white swan design, perfectly frosted and delicately flavored.

The cream was rich and smooth, light on the tongue.

But to me, it tasted strangely bitter. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.

Seeing my reaction, Samuel’s tone turned impatient. “Mom, can you not ruin the mood? It's Aunt Wilma’s day. If it’s just about the grapes, I’ll buy you some, what’s the big deal?”

I wiped my face and swallowed the last bite of my cake.

“No need. Today’s my 56th birthday. Thank you… for the cake.”

Silence settled in the room like a fog. Martin and Samuel exchanged a glance.

“Well... you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Martin muttered.

Wilma never had to say a word, yet her birthdays were always remembered, celebrated with gifts, surprises and thoughtful gestures.

In the midst of our conversation, the sound of my baby grandson’s cries rose from the other room.

Samuel frowned, his voice firm. “Mom, Calvin is awake. Go check on him.”

I stood up, not to tend to my grandson, but to return to the bedroom and start packing.

Just a few essentials: some toiletries, two sets of clothes. There wasn’t much to take. Even a small suitcase felt too large.

Then, my gaze fell on the wall above the bed.

Our wedding photo used to hang there. I couldn’t remember exactly when it disappeared, then replaced by a framed calligraphy piece written by Wilma.

[This heart never stopped yearning, for the man I met after it was already promised away.]

Late at night, Martin would often sit and stare at it in silence, as if those words held a story only he understood.

Footsteps came from behind. It was Martin.

He glanced at the suitcase, frowning and said softly, “Still upset?”

I said nothing.

He pulled me into a familiar embrace and murmured, “We’ve been married thirty years. Can you really just leave?

“Calvin is still so little, he needs his grandmother. Wilma’s health isn’t great. Judith and the rest… they need you.

“And me—I rely on you too.”

Yes, he needed me, but he never loved me.

I remembered the man I met decades ago.

Martin came from a well-educated family, top of his class all his life. He went to Summit and Penbrooke University, then became a professor.

He had everything; brains, looks, charm, a promising future. Yet, he married me. A high school dropout who worked in a restaurant.

People said I wasn’t good enough for him. Maybe they were right. So I spent thirty years worshiping him, never stepping out of line.

Now, I wasn’t angry. Just… done.

“I’ve given you thirty years. I’ve done enough. I’m tired.” I picked up my suitcase and walked toward the living room.

Then, I heard Wilma’s voice, low and anxious. “Is your mom upset I live here? Samuel… maybe I should leave.”

Samuel gently hushed the baby and turned to Wilma. “Don’t worry, Aunt Wilma. My mom is just an idle housewife, she tends to overthink things. Please don’t take it to heart.”

“This is the Fleming home. As long as I’m here, no one will make you leave.”

He stood tall, his posture confident, his eyes steady. The little boy who used to hide in my arms was gone.

In his place stood a man—educated, accomplished, founder of a thriving gaming company and respected by those around him.

He had earned the right to speak with such assurance. I said nothing. I simply picked up my suitcase and walked out, without once looking back.

***

Later, I contacted my lawyer and had him draft the divorce papers. Then I sent them to Martin.

In just a few minutes, my phone rang. I answered, speaking softly but clearly. “I want 30% of our shared assets.”

Martin may have earned the income, but I had built the home; cooking, cleaning, raising our child. I had carried my share.

Thirty percent wasn’t asking too much. I wasn’t a naive girl anymore. I wouldn’t give up what I deserved just because I was hurt.

Though my tone was calm, there was silence on the other end.

After a long pause, Martin finally said in a hoarse voice, “Judith... I don’t agree to a divorce.”

“The house was a mess while you were gone, no one cooked, no one looked after the child. He cried for you every night until he lost his voice,” Martin said.

Calvin, my grandson, was just three. After Samuel’s divorce, he had thrown himself into work and I had been the one raising the boy.

I felt a pang of guilt hearing Calvin had suffered.

But then Martin continued, “We’ve all grown used to having you around. Judith, just come back.”

It wasn’t that they couldn’t live without me, it was that they couldn’t live without a free, dependable nanny.

So, I kept my voice steady. “My lawyer will handle the divorce. If you refuse to sign, I’ll see you in court.”

I ended the call, booked a spot on a senior travel tour and left the next day.

However, even a month after I returned, Martin still wouldn’t agree to the divorce.

I didn’t care much. At my age, marriage felt more like a shackle than anything else.

Earlier this month, Maureen Fleming’s 80th birthday party was held at a five-star hotel. She had always been kind to me and I didn’t want to upset her, so I showed up as expected.

Martin was there too. The moment he saw me, he rushed over.

“Judith! Where have you been? Samuel and I couldn’t reach you. We were worried sick!” he said.

I looked him in the eye and suddenly asked, “Martin, why did you marry me back then?”

The question caught even me off guard and I chuckled. Traveling really had done wonders. A month of freedom had shifted something in me. Facing Martin again, I felt so much lighter.

Even the things I used to avoid or topics I never had the strength to touch… I could now say out loud, without flinching.

“Was it because I had no degree, no background? Because I was timid and obedient? You couldn’t marry Wilma, so you settled for someone easy to control... am I right?” I added.

His gaze darted away. A moment passed before he snapped, “She’s my sister-in-law! I’m only looking after her because of my brother’s dying wish. That’s what family does! How dare you twist it!”

“But you’ve never treated her like one,” I said quietly. “Martin, you love her. You fell in love with your own sister-in-law.”

I looked at his pale face and, for the first time, felt a sense of relief. This marriage had been a mistake from the start, there was nothing left to hold on to.

By the time I returned, the birthday party was already underway.

Maureen waved at me warmly. “Judith, come here and sit beside me.”

I said nothing about the earlier argument with Martin and took my seat with a polite smile.

She was the only one in the entire Fleming Family who had ever truly treated me with kindness. Today was her special day, I didn’t want to upset her.

But it seemed she sensed the tension lingering in the air. Without a word, she slipped off the emerald bracelet from her wrist and pressed it into my hand.

Martin immediately objected. “Mom, that’s the Fleming Family’s heirloom jade bracelet, it’s priceless! Wilma is the eldest daughter-in-law. That bracelet should go to her!”

Samuel chimed in, “Yes, Grandma. Aunt Wilma is elegant and refined. She’s more suited to wear something like that.

“Mom is always busy with housework and the kids, jewelry isn’t really practical for her.”

However, Maureen didn’t even look up. “Judith has taken care of me for years and poured her heart into this family. Compared to Wilma, she’s the one who’s truly earned the title of mistress of the Fleming Family. This bracelet is hers.”

Despite my attempts to refuse, she clasped it onto my wrist with firm hands, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm old, but I still get to make the decisions in this family!" she declared.

Right after she spoke, the table rattled and cracks split across the walls. It was an earthquake.

Martin and Samuel froze for a second. Then they bolted toward me. Yet, the moment Wilma cried out in pain, they hesitated, turned around and ran to her instead.

I was near the door and I could’ve left easily.

However, I remembered Maureen's weak legs. Gritting my teeth, I turned back and carried her outside.

Chandeliers crashed to the floor, one after another, deadly in this chaos.

Just before we made it out of the hall, a wire scraped my right leg. Blood burst out, running down my calf.

I limped toward the safety tent, pain shooting through every step, but I didn’t stop until she was safe.

That was when Martin appeared out of nowhere and grabbed my wrist. “Wilma’s aorta ruptured, she needs blood. You’re the only match,” he said.

He dragged me all the way to the hospital, ignoring my struggle. My wound split open again in the scuffle, staining my pants a deep red.

“Nurse! I’ve brought her, hurry and draw her blood! Wilma’s life is in danger!” Martin shouted.

He dragged me to the nurse’s station. The nurse grabbed a syringe but didn’t proceed right away. Instead, she turned to me and asked, “Madam, do you give your consent to donate blood to the patient in bed 42, Wilma Lewis?”

“She agrees—” Martin jumped in.

“I don’t!” I cut him off.

I yanked my arm free from his grip. “Martin, we have law in this country. You can’t force me to give blood without my consent.”

Then came a sharp crack, his hand across my face. “You're being ridiculous! A life is at stake and you're still making trouble? You disgust me, Judith!”

It was the first time he ever hit me.

I cupped my stinging cheek, oddly calm inside. “If saving her matters so much to you, I’ll do it. But I have terms.”

Martin stared at me, confused, as I pulled out the divorce papers and slid them to him. “I get everything, the house at The Timberline, all our marital property. We’re getting divorced and you walk away with nothing.”