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Behind me, the family's laughter echoed.
The"outsider"was finally gone—they must be thrilled.
At my parents'doorstep, I changed my mind.
They were old, frail—I didn't want to burden them with this mess yet.
So I texted my husband, setting a time tomorrow morning at the courthouse for divorce registration, and checked into a motel in town.
From marriage until now, I'd never left that house. This was my first night away.
I thought a strange place would feel unsettling, but I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.
No worrying if my husband was home, if our son had kicked off his blanket—I slept soundly until dawn.
At the courthouse, Robert was already waiting.
He looked at me coldly."You actually showed up?"
"What, thought I was bluffing? Your mom's always saying girls at your company are dying to marry you.I'm letting go—you're too good for a washed-up housewife like me, with your steady job."
"No need to feel inferior. Lower your standards, you'll find someone!"
I mocked him, and he didn't even catch it. How did I ever fall for this arrogant fool?
"Wife, I bet when the month's cooling-off period ends, you won't go through with it."
"We'll see!"
His phone rang.
His mother's voice bellowed," Finished registering? The girl Mrs. Parker set you up with is almost here!"
She moved fast—divorce not even filed, and she was arranging dates.
Thought her son was still a catch?
Laughable!
I raised an eyebrow."Hurry up, don't miss your big moment!"
He rubbed his hands awkwardly, silent.
After filing, I told him not to tell my parents yet. He agreed.
Watching him jump into his car and speed off, my heart sank.
Thirteen years of my life, gone to waste.
The sun was warm, comforting. I found a bench in a nearby park and sat.
Soon, a young mom with a two-year-old girl sat beside me.
The girl raised her chubby hand to wipe her mom's sweat.
"Mommy, don't carry me anymore. You'll get too tired. I don't want you to be tired."
Her sweet voice melted my heart.
They say daughters are a mom's warm jacket—so true.
I recalled my son's birth, a cesarean after a failed natural delivery, the incision never healing right, pain knocking me out repeatedly.
My husband was busy, my mother-in-law refused to help, and I cared for our son alone through the postpartum period.
When strangers were around, she'd clutch her grandson, boasting about her efforts. Alone, she'd complain my room smelled and avoid it.
I gave her the son she wanted, fulfilling her lineage dreams, thinking life would improve.
Soon, she pushed for another child, saying our son was lonely, needed a sibling.
My postpartum recovery was rough—back pain, insomnia—and I didn't conceive.
She hinted I was avoiding pregnancy, unwilling to grow the Thompson family.
I ignored her, thinking I was living for my husband and son, not her.
But even they saw me as an outsider.
