Shane's SUV rolled to a stop in front of my parents’ house, the hum of the engine fading into the early afternoon stillness. I sat there for a moment, fingers tight around the strap of my bag, staring at the familiar white fence and the garden my mother prided herself on. It should have felt safe here. Instead, the air was thick with dreadful anxiety.

“You want me to come in?” Shane asked, leaning on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the house like he was checking for threats.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “They’ll ask questions I’m not ready to answer. Besides… if Helga’s here, I’d rather not give her another audience.”

He studied me for a second longer, then nodded. “Call me if you need me. I mean it, Mia—anything.”

I managed a small smile, squeezed his hand once, and stepped out. The wheels on my suitcase clicked over the gravel driveway. Shaun stayed until I reached the gate, giving me a short wave before pulling away.

The roses by the porch were in full bloom, their sweetness cloying after the stale taste of last night’s betrayal. I was halfway to the front door when Helga appeared, stepping out from behind the column like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. Her hair was perfect, her lipstick fresh, her smile smug enough to belong in a magazine spread titled Sick Homewreckers Who Thrive.

“Well, look who finally came home,” she said, her voice lilting with fake surprise. “The prodigal ballerina returns. No red peignoir today, huh?”

I ignored her and kept walking toward the spacious living room.

She followed me with lazy but numbered steps. “You should’ve seen the way he looked at me this morning before I left your home. Guess he likes women who actually stay put.”

The words were meant to sting, but I had nothing left to give her. My silence seemed to bother her more than any retort could.

“Pathetic,” she added under her breath.

I stopped at the door to my room, hand on the knob, and turned just enough to meet her gaze. “You’ve earned every bit of what he is. Enjoy him while it lasts.”

For a flicker of a second, something sharp flashed in her eyes—like she hated being reminded of the kind of man she’d chosen. But then the smirk returned, and she tilted her head. “I already am.”

I stepped inside, the scent of my mother’s lavender dried flowers wafted, wrapping around me. I moved quickly grabbed a box from my old closet and filling it with clothes and documents I’d left behind before my tour. I was halfway done when the sound of heels clicked across the hall.

And then—a loud, dramatic gasp. I turned to see Helga in the doorway, her hand pressed to her cheek like she’d just been struck. Her eyes were wide, wet, and shining like a highly-paid actress in some soap opera.

“Oh my God, Mia,” she said, voice trembling. “Why would you slap me?!”

I blinked, caught between disbelief and laughter. “Are you crazy? I didn’t—”

The front door opened downstairs.

“Helga, dear?” my mother’s voice called, cheerful at first. My parents stepped into the hallway a moment later, grocery bags in hand, only to freeze at the sight of Helga clutching her cheek.

“What happened?” my mother asked, her tone sharp with concern.

“She just… she lost control,” Helga said, sniffling. “I was trying to talk to her about Nick, and she—” Her voice broke, perfect timing for maximum effect.

I set the box down with a thud. “I never touched you, Helga. She’s lying!”

My father frowned. “Why would she make that up?”

“Why?” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Because she’s been sleeping with my husband, and now she’s acting like a victim, too.”

Helga gasped again, shaking her head with angelic disbelief. “That’s not true. Nick and I have just… been close while you were away. You’re twisting it.”

“Close?” My voice cracked, the word jagged on my tongue. “I saw you, Helga. Last night.”

"That's a heavy accusation, Mia!" My father roared, yanking me out of the room. He hurled me back to the living room and pushed me to the couch.

"I'm telling the truth, Dad. She's fucking my husband whenever she get the chance."

Before either of my parents could respond, the crunch of tires on gravel pulled all our eyes to the driveway. A black sedan rolled in. Nick stepped out, scanning the yard before locking eyes with me through the open doorway. Relief flickered across his face like I was the answer to a prayer he didn’t deserve.

“Mia,” he called, stepping toward the house. “We need to talk.”

Helga lingered just behind me now, her hand still on her cheek, ensuring my parents caught the image of the wounded sister, the guilty wife. And just like that, I knew this was the scene she’d wanted all along.

Nick’s eyes darted from my father to me, then to Helga standing just inside the doorway with her hand still pressed to her cheek like it was a delicate porcelain cup. “I came to talk to my wife,” he said, his gaze finally locking on mine. “Mia, please—we can’t end this without setting everything in private.”

"We have nothing to talk about. Leave. Now." I said, freezing him on the spot.

Helga made a wounded noise, almost a whimper. “She’s… she’s angry, Nick. She hit me! Here, look at my face.”

I turned to my parents, my voice sharp. “She's lying! I didn’t even lay a finger on her."

Nick’s brow furrowed. “Since when did you become violent, Mia? Apologize to—”

“Don’t you dare,” I cut in sternly. “Don’t you stand there and pretend you don’t know exactly what she’s doing.”

My mother glanced between us, confusion giving way to suspicion. “What is she talking about?”

Helga sniffled, stepping closer to Nick. “She thinks I… that we—” She faltered, lowering her head like she couldn’t even bring herself to say it.

I laughed bitterly. “You can’t even say it out loud? Afraid the truth will burn your tongue?”

Nick’s eyes flashed irritation. “Mia, this isn’t helping. You’ve been gone for two months, and now you come back and—”

I held up my hand. “Stop talking like I abandoned you. I left for work. My career. The same one you claimed to support—right up until you found someone to fill in the bay.”

I glared at Helga, but the bitch didn't budge. The air in the hallway thickened. My father shifted his stance, clearly fighting the urge to intervene while my mother’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Helga stepped into the silence like she owned it. “You’re twisting everything. I was here for him when you weren’t. I was—”

“You were in my house,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “In my bed. With my husband.”

Nick inhaled sharply. “Enough!” His voice boomed, the sudden volume making even Helga flinch. “This is between us, Mia. Don't involve them in our problem.”

I squared my shoulders. “You made it their business when you brought my whore sister into it.”

Helga shifted, her gaze flicking toward my parents as if weighing how much more she could milk the moment. And then—she tilted her head, feigning hurt. “You don’t understand, Mia… I love him.”

My father swore under his breath. My mother’s hand went to her mouth.

Nick rubbed his temples, muttering, “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.”

Something cold settled in my stomach. “How you wanted this to happen?” I asked slowly, biting back the bile rising in my throat.

He hesitated, and in that hesitation, the answer was clear. He wasn’t surprised she’d said it.

“You’ve been planning this,” I said, my voice quiet but laced with venom. “Both of you.”

Helga stepped closer to him, her shoulder brushing his. “We didn’t plan to hurt you. But… your absence brought us together. He's a cold-blooded man with needs... And we just found each other's affection like the very air that we breathe.”

I stared at them, the urge to scream clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it down. They wanted the spectacle. I wouldn’t give it to them. I picked up my bag and the box from my room, brushing past Nick toward the door. “You can have each other,” I said without looking back. “But you’ll never have me in your lives again.”

“You don't have to. Come on, Mia, stop! —” Nick started, but I headed to the porch.

Outside, the cool air hit my face like a slap I didn’t mind. I made it halfway to the gate before my mother called my name. I turned, expecting her to plead with me to stay, to talk it out. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at Nick, her eyes wide.

“Nick,” she said, her tone sharp, “where’s your wedding ring?”

Nick froze. His gaze flicked to Helga. And Helga—smiling faintly—slid her hand into her pocket and pulled something out. A gold band. Mine.

She rolled it between her fingers before letting it drop into her palm. “I found this under the bed yesterday," she said sweetly. “I thought Mia might want it back.”

My stomach heaved painfully. This only meant one thing—they’d been doing it in my parents’ house, too.

If the confrontation had been a fire, my mother’s collapse was the smoke that lingered long after. She didn’t faint—she just… sat down too fast, her skin suddenly pale, one hand clutching the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her tethered.

The fight drained out of me instantly. I should have left. Everything in me wanted to. But I couldn’t walk out on her, not like this. Not every time I left a room, she followed me with her eyes like she was afraid I’d vanish. So I stayed.

“How are you feeling, Mom?” I crouched in front of her, scanning her face. Her breath was shallow, uneven.

“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice wavered. “Just… a little dizzy.”

My father shot a look at Nick, and for once, my soon-to-be ex-husband had the decency to lower his eyes. Helga mumbled something about calling an ambulance, but my mother insisted on not calling for an ambulance. The doctor came by that evening. “Stress,” he said simply, after checking her vitals. “She needs rest, and no more shouting matches.” His eyes flicked over the four of us, landing on me a beat too long, as if to say you know who I mean.

Helga didn’t sleep in my old room, thank God. But she was still here—in the kitchen in the mornings, on the porch in the evenings, her voice floating down the hall whenever Nick came by. She played the part of the helpful daughter, making tea for my mother, peeling fruit, washing dishes. I knew it was all for show, but my parents didn’t send her away.

My pregnancy made everything more complicated. I was barely two months along, but my body already felt different—tired more easily, sick some mornings. I told no one. Not my parents, not Shane, and definitely not Nick. This was mine to protect, and I wasn’t letting either of them taint it.

Shane came by the second night. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to see him until I opened the door and there he was—his familiar, steady gaze softening when he saw my face.

“Hey, Mia,” he said, greeting me with an affectionate smile.

I fell into his arms before I could think.

“Breathe,” he murmured, holding me like he’d done a hundred times before—after exams, after breakups, after my father’s heart scare in my third year of college. He was my constant, my proof that not everyone left when things got hard.

We talked in my room, the door closed against the rest of the house. I didn’t tell him everything—just enough for him to understand that Nick and Helga were still in the picture, circling like vultures.

“Why stay?” he asked gently.

“My mom,” I said simply. “She’s not well. I can’t leave her right now.”

He nodded, not pushing, but his eyes said he wanted to drag me out of here himself.

“He didn’t sign the papers?” he asked, handing me a slice of blueberry pie.

“Not yet.” I shook my head and sighed.

We talked for another thirty minutes before he decided to go home. At midnight, I was startled by the low moans and groans coming from the room beside mine. Then I heard Nick’s voice. Low. Close. And Helga’s sultry laugh—light and practiced—followed.

I stayed up, talking quietly to myself, saying sorry to my baby while crying my heart out. After a while, the engine roared to life. I heard the front door shut and Nick’s car pulled away. Still, the silence didn’t bring peace because I knew Nick wasn’t gone for good.

He was still torn—between me, his wife, and Helga, the woman who’d wedged herself into every corner of my life. And as much as I hated it, that meant he’d keep coming back.