Just three more days.

Three more days until my father comes to pick me up.

Three more days of pretending that everything is okay.

Three more days of smiling through a storm I’ve weathered for half a lifetime.

It was strange, really. Even after everything, it was still my father who came through for me. Despite his age, despite the years that passed, he remembered me, the daughter ripped away from him the day my mother remarried.

I used to hate him. As a little girl, I believed the lies my mother fed me — that he destroyed our family, that he was the reason I didn’t have the life I deserved. That he was weak, careless, selfish. But years later, I learned the truth.

He didn’t leave us. She did. She cheated on him. Abandoned him. And took me with her into a new life that never truly welcomed me.

And when she had Kate — her golden child, her second chance — I became the shadow they shoved into corners.

Kate always knew how to twist a knife with a smile. When our mother would get angry over something she believed I did, it was usually because Kate had whispered poison behind my back. I was the mistake, the leftover. Kate made sure I knew it.

And now? Nothing had changed. I was still the afterthought. The one who was always in the way.

My thoughts shattered when I heard a voice downstairs sharp, familiar.

My mother.

I blinked. She hadn’t been home in weeks. I walked slowly into the living room and saw her surrounded by gift bags, boxes, and ribbons. Johann sat beside her, sipping wine. Samuel was on his phone. And Kate was helping unpack the gifts like a glowing daughter who’d earned them all.

There was nothing for me.

Again.

Kate, ever the performer, glanced at me and cooed, “Mom, what about Samantha?”

Our mother didn’t even look up. “Oh, I forgot about her. It’s not like she goes anywhere. She just stays in the house. What would I even buy her?”

Then, looking at me with that same look she’s worn for years, she added, “Since you’re standing there, go make us something to eat. We haven’t had lunch.”

I nodded and turned away, biting my tongue so hard I could taste blood.

In the kitchen, I kept my hands busy — chopping, boiling, pretending I wasn’t breaking apart inside.

Kate waltzed in and stood beside me, smiling like we were two sisters who had grown up baking cookies.

“I’ll help,” she said, too chipper. “Wouldn’t want you to get all the attention, after all.”

“I’ve got it,” I muttered, barely looking at her.

She leaned in, close enough for her breath to tickle my cheek.

“When will you finally leave our lives?” she whispered, sweetly venomous.

I didn’t hesitate. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gone soon.”

“Great,” she chirped. “Because we really don’t have room for you anymore. Oh, by the way, we’ll be moving your things to the storage room. You’ll stay there for a bit, renovations, you understand?”

I froze. “What did you just say?”

“I said,” she raised her voice now, loud enough for the others to hear, “we’ll need to move your things to the storage room temporarily. For renovations.”

“What’s going on?” Johann called from the other room.

Kate pouted. “Samantha raised her voice at me. I told her we needed to move her things but I guess she didn’t want to move.”

Johann’s response was instant, brutal. “So what? This isn’t your house, Samantha. You don’t get a say here.”

Samuel chimed in from the couch, not even glancing up. “You don’t even pay bills. We’re nice enough to let you stay in the storage room. Don’t act like you’re owed something.”

Kate sighed theatrically. “Sorry, but they’re right. I’ll get you a mattress or something. You’ll be fine.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I simply walked out of the kitchen.

“Now she’s ignoring us?” Johann barked. “Where’s your tongue, Samantha? Cat got it?”

I stopped at the stairs, turned to face him, and smiled.

“You truly disappoint me, Johann.”

His face twisted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Enough!” Kate said, stepping between us with fake concern. “Let’s not fight. Please.”

They were all defending her. Always her. I didn’t speak again. I climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

When I opened the door to my room, I nearly screamed.

Leon was there. Sitting on the floor. His little hands smeared in red and blue and green.

My paintings.

The ones I’d been working on in secret. I stopped painting when I married Johann, but lately, I decided to continue to earn my own money, so I could buy what I want. This is a piece I planned to sell to a client who finally saw value in me.

But everything is ruined now.

“Leon!” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He looked up, eyes wide, hands covered in paint. “I was coloring! Like Aunt Kate told me!”

“That’s not coloring!” I cried, grabbing the ruined canvas. “This is my work! My painting!”

He started to cry, loud and shrill. “You’re mean! You’re a bad grandma!”

He threw a cup of paint at me. The lid flew off, splattering yellow down my dress, into my hair, across my face.

And something inside me cracked.

I slapped him.

The moment my hand met Leon’s cheek, the room shattered.

He let out a high-pitched cry, stumbled back, then turned and ran, screaming for Kate. “Auntie! She hit me!”

I stood frozen in the mess of paint, canvas, and shame, my hands trembling, my stomach turning in on itself. But before I could follow after him—before I could explain—footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“What the hell did you do?!” Samuel’s voice thundered as he pushed open the door. His face twisted with rage. “You hit my son?”

“He ruined my painting,” I managed to say, my voice shaking. “It was for a client. I—I just snapped.”

Samuel scoffed. “Client? What client, Mom? You don’t have clients. You’re a nobody in the art world. You think someone wants your scribbles?”

“I—”

“She’s making excuses,” Johann spat as he entered behind Samuel, eyes ablaze. “You dare raise your hand to my grandson?! He was just playing!”

“She slapped him,” Kate added, her voice quivering with fake concern. “But… maybe it was just an accident, she didn’t mean it, right?”

But her eyes sparkled as she said it. She was enjoying this.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I whispered.

But no one was listening. Johann crossed the room in two strides and slapped me.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Then it kept coming. Over and over. Like he was hitting every year I had spent by his side. Every birthday forgotten. Every insult I swallowed. Every dream I let rot.

Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

My face burned. My ears rang. My knees buckled. The world spun.

“Stop!” Kate finally cried out, still pretending, still smiling inside. “Please, she’s had enough! It was just a painting—”

But Johann didn’t stop.

Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty.

And then… I collapsed.

I don’t remember how long I was unconscious. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the kitchen floor. Alone. My cheek pressed to cold tile, dried blood on my lip. The faint sound of laughter echoed from the living room.

I reached for my phone with shaking fingers, hands bruised and barely working.

A message from my father lit up the screen.

Dad: “Everything’s ready. Your flight to Japan is booked. Sunday morning. Cherry blossoms, just like you wanted. The lawyer said that divorce documents are in your email just print and have him sign. Then come home.

Tears blurred my vision. I stood slowly, holding onto the wall for balance. My ribs ached with every breath. My lip was split. My cheekbone throbbed.

But I smiled.

I printed the divorce papers from my email in silence, tucked them into a folder, and took one long look in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was broken… but not defeated.

Not anymore.

Downstairs, they were all gathered like nothing happened.

Kate was pouring wine, laughing softly. Samuel was scrolling on his phone while Leon played with toy trains. My mother and Johann were going over hotel bookings and tourist spots since she would also be coming with them.

“…And I think we should go to Kyoto on the third day, Kate,” Johann said. “It’ll be the peak of cherry blossom season.”

Kate smiled. “You’re spoiling me.”

I walked into the room and stood by the door. No one noticed.

“Johann,” I said quietly. “Can you sign these papers? They’re for the bills and estate forms. Needs your signature.”

He barely looked up. “Yeah, yeah. Just leave it here.”

“No,” I said, stepping closer. “Please sign it now. It’s urgent.”

He sighed, irritated, and grabbed the pen. Without even glancing at the documents, he scribbled his name across every line I pointed at.

“There,” he muttered. “Happy now?”

“Very,” I said softly.

I gathered the papers and turned toward the stairs.

“Hey, where are you going?” Samuel called out.

“Just upstairs,” I said. “To pack your things for your trip. I’m not yet done.”

They didn’t even question it. Their laughter resumed. Their plans continued without pause.

And that was when I realized: I could disappear from their lives entirely and they wouldn’t notice until the next day… or week… or year.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because I wasn’t asking to be seen.

I was finally setting myself free.

The morning of their trip, the house was alive with chaos. Suitcases thumped down the stairs, coat zippers zipped and unzipped, Leon’s squeals echoed through the hallway as he darted around, sugar-hyped and unstoppable.

I moved from room to room like a ghost — folding clothes, picking up stray socks, finding a lost shoe for Samuel, packing snacks for Leon. Invisible. Always invisible.

In the living room, Leon flopped on the couch with his arms crossed. He glared at me, tiny eyes brimming with venom, his young mind didn’t even understand.

“I hate you!” he yelled, flinging one of my scarves onto the floor. “You’re bad! I want Aunt Kate to be my grandma, not you!”

I flinched but said nothing. Kate, ever the saint, patted his head and cooed, “Don’t say that, Leon. She’s not all bad. Grandma tries too, right?”

Johann snorted from where he was stuffing papers into a travel folder. “Don’t defend her, Kate. She’s useless. Always has been. God, if I could do it all over again—” he turned, meeting Kate’s soft smile with an almost wistful look — “it would have been you beside me, not her.”

The words sliced deeper than any slap. But they didn’t draw blood this time. Not anymore.

Samuel piped up too, laughing like it was a joke, “Honestly, Mom, you should be grateful Aunt Kate’s so kind to you. I’d pick her as my mother any day over you.”

My heart wanted to splinter — but instead, it hardened. I pressed my lips together, focused on tying the last suitcase shut.

“Don’t just stand there,” Johann snapped. “The renovation team’s coming today. Make sure you clean up this mess before they start knocking down walls. And wait here while we’re gone, got it? Don’t mess anything up.”

“Yes,” I said softly.

He didn’t hear me. He was too busy kissing Kate’s cheek. Leon tugged at Kate’s sleeve, ignoring me entirely as they all stepped out the door, laughing, comparing flight seats, arguing about which day to see the cherry blossoms in Kyoto.

I stood in the hallway until their voices disappeared. And then… the silence felt different.

When they left, I didn’t clean. I didn’t pick up a single sock. Instead, I walked up the stairs to my tiny room — the one they were so eager to move into the storage closet — and sat on my bed for a moment. Just breathing.

Then I pulled out my small, battered suitcase and started folding the few clothes I owned. My hands moved steadily, no rush, no panic. I carefully placed the paintings I’d managed to salvage — the ones Leon hadn’t destroyed — into a tube and taped it shut. One final piece of myself that no one could ruin.

When I zipped the suitcase shut, I glanced around the room one last time. The cracked mirror. The threadbare blanket. The chipped mug on the nightstand.

All of it would stay behind. Downstairs, the front door creaked open. My father’s driver stepped inside, a kind-faced man in a crisp suit, eyes soft when he saw me.

“Ma’am,” he said with a small bow. “Everything’s ready. The car is waiting.”

I nodded, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the house without looking back.

At the airport, I sat near the large windows, watching the planes roll in and out like giant silver birds taking people far away from everything they knew.

My phone vibrated in my bag. I ignored it at first — but it buzzed again, and again.

Finally, I pulled it out.

Johann: Where the hell are you? The renovation crew is in the house, and no one’s answering the door. The place is a mess. Where are you, you useless maid?

A minute later: If I come home and this house isn’t spotless, you’re going to regret it. Do you hear me? You better be scrubbing that floor right now and welcoming them!

I read his messages, calm as a cloud.

I typed back, my fingers steady.

I think you’re the one who’s going to regret, Johann. I’m done being your maid. And your wife. Goodbye. Have fun with your little family, without me.

Then I blocked his number, watched it vanish from my phone — the last chain snapped clean.

When the gate attendant called my flight, I stood and pulled my small suitcase behind me.

As I stepped onto the jet bridge, a single tear slipped down my cheek. But this time, it wasn’t for them. It was for me, for the girl who stayed too long, and the woman who was finally choosing her happiness.