All That Love and Tears are for Nothing

There were milk stains on his pants just below the belt—still damp, mingled with the lingering scent of Malissa’s perfume. I didn’t need to guess what the two of them had been doing.

My stomach churned.

Just then, the maternity nurse from Malissa’s room came knocking on the door, flustered.

“Sir, madam’s breasts are engorged again. She’s been holding in tears all morning. The baby hasn’t eaten and her chest is rock hard. She’s in so much pain—please, could you come?”

Milford shoved me aside without hesitation. My injured leg buckled and I collapsed onto the floor. He didn’t even glance back.

“She’s in that much pain and no one thought to tell me sooner? What do I even pay you people for?” he barked, already halfway out the door.

“Starting today, she’s not nursing anymore. Hire as many wet nurses as it takes. I don’t want Lisa hurting another second—and my son is not going hungry!”

Just like that, he was gone, leaving me crumpled on the floor.

I sat there in stunned silence, remembering.

When he first decided to take Malissa in, Enid had just been born. I was still in postpartum recovery when I heard the news—so angry and heartbroken that my milk stopped flowing. My chest swelled until it felt like it was filled with stones, the pain so unbearable I couldn’t sleep.

I’d begged him to hire a nurse, someone to help.

But he’d just stared me down and said, “Lori, you’re the daughter of a mob boss. You were raised to be tough. What’s a little pain to someone like you?”

“I don’t trust strangers coming into this house. What if they’re spies sent by our enemies? I won’t gamble with Lisa’s safety.”

“So no, I won’t bring in a nurse. You’ll feed the baby yourself. You’ve always been the sensible one. Just hang in there a little longer, okay?”

Milford was willing to do anything so long as Malissa was comfortable. So, when had that started?

When had he gone from calling her “my sister-in-law,” to “Lisa,” and now—“my wife”?

Then what about me? What did that make me?

“Mama, don’t cry.”

I hadn’t even noticed when Enid woke up. She slid off the bed and padded over to me, her tiny hand brushing against my cheek.

Only then did I realize—my face was soaked with tears.

She wrapped her arms tightly around me, her little voice thick with emotion. “Mama… this is the hundredth time Daddy left us to go be with her.”

“I’ve made up my mind. We don’t need him anymore. Let’s go, just the two of us.”

So she knew. She had known all along. She just kept giving him one more chance… and then another. Until she finally ran out of chances to give. Until she finally gave up.

I pulled her close and held her to my chest, my tears falling again—but this time, I smiled through them.

“Okay, baby. Mama will take you away.”

The next morning, Malissa showed up at my door with a cheery smile, as if nothing had happened. She invited me out shopping—said it was her way of apologizing for “not taking better care of Enid.”

She looped her arm around Milford’s and purred sweetly, “Milo, you better come with us to pay the bills. After all, Lori’s had such a rough year—we owe her, don’t you think?”

Malissa played the role of The Wrights' Lady of the House like she was born for it—graceful, entitled, utterly in control. So, when I didn’t respond right away, Milford’s expression soured.

“Lori,” he said, irritated, “Lisa’s just trying to be nice. You and Enid upset her so badly yesterday she was in pain all night, couldn’t even nurse Eddy. And she still hasn’t held it against you. The least you could do is not make this harder.”

He must’ve forgotten the walls in that house were paper thin. I’d heard everything the night before—their moaning, their whispered promises, the sound of their bodies tangled in something sickening.

The memory made my stomach churn, but I swallowed the bile and gave a small nod. I didn’t have the strength to fight—at least not right then.

At the mall, Malissa stayed latched to Milford’s arm the entire time, parading him like a trophy. He wore his tailored suit like it was armor; she floated beside him in a designer gown that probably cost more than my old car. They basked in the praise of the store clerks, soaking up the attention like royalty.

Meanwhile, I limped behind them in a faded, off-brand dress that had seen better days—if it had ever seen one at all. I caught the judgment in the eyes of the staff, the sneers they didn’t bother hiding. I wasn’t supposed to be there, not in their world.

Whenever someone asked who I was, Milford would glance back at me—nervous, guilty—and say with a tight smile:

“She’s our housemaid. My wife thought she could use some new clothes.”