Forty Years a Stranger

Upon hearing my words, everyone turned to look at me in surprise.

Luke was the first to react. His tone carried a hint of excitement, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

"You said it yourself," he said. "So don’t blame us later for not taking you along. This time, I won’t pamper you like I did last time."

He was referring to his birthday last year.

I had spent a small fortune to have a custom-made tailored just for the occasion—to give him face, to make him proud. But the moment he saw it, he sneered and said,

"With that bulky figure, you dare wear that? It’s hideous. Something like that only looks good on Camila. On you, it’s disgusting."

My self-esteem shattered in that instant. I lashed out, “If you think I’m such an embarrassment, I won’t attend tonight. You can celebrate your birthday alone.”

And he really did.

That night, Luke stood beside Camila, hand in hand, cutting the birthday cake in front of all the guests.

By the time the banquet ended in the early morning, I had cried so much that my eyes were red and swollen. When he returned home, he threw a leftover piece of cake at me with an impatient tone.

“I saved this specially for you.”

It was that pitiful piece of cake that softened my heart and made me reconcile with him, once again slipping back into the role of his servant.

Now, thinking back on that day, it felt like a thorn buried deep in my heart, constantly aching with every breath.

At this point, my daughter-in-law chimed in, pretending to be concerned.

“Don’t overthink it, Mom. If you want to go, just go.”

But I knew she had already hidden my suitcase.

The home I had lived in for decades suddenly felt unfamiliar—like I was being exiled from my own life. I turned around silently and walked back into the house, feeling drained.

Then Luke received a call from Camila.

He barged into my room and barked at me in that commanding tone he always used when speaking to the help.

“Camila’s place had a power outage. She’s scared to sleep alone, so she’s coming over. Go get the guest room ready for her. Oh, and she hasn’t eaten yet, so cook a few dishes she likes.”

I pressed my temples and sighed. “I already told you—I’m not feeling well today. Just go out and eat.”

“Don’t pretend!” he snapped. “You sit around all day doing nothing and still complain when I ask for a little help? You’ve got it easy.”

“Get up and cook!”

Without warning, he yanked me off the bed. I stumbled and hit the corner of the table hard. Blood instantly streamed down my forehead.

For a brief moment, Luke’s face changed. But before he could say anything, his phone buzzed.

His eyes lit up when he saw the message. Without another word, he turned around and rushed out of the room.

“Camila says she doesn’t want to trouble us and is inviting us out to eat instead. Hurry up and get ready—we don’t want to keep her waiting.”

A moment later, I heard cheerful voices from the living room and the slam of the front door.

I stared at the door, unable to move, my heart tangled with disappointment and quiet rage.

They had forgotten I had been packing their luggage since six in the morning, hadn’t eaten a single bite all day—and still, I didn’t even receive a proper invitation.

I quietly bandaged the wound on my head, then reached under the bed and dragged out a heavy iron box.

It held only four things.

Two marriage certificates, a dried rose and a silver ring that wasn’t even worth a hundred dollars—four items that had tied me to a lifetime of suffering.

When I was five, my father had an affair with Camila’s mother and brought his mistress into our home. My mother, heartbroken, died from the grief. Her eyes couldn’t even close in peace at her funeral.

With my mother gone, I had no protection. I lived under the torment of my stepmother and her daughter, enduring a childhood of abuse.

Then Luke entered my life like a light in the darkness.

He always appeared at my lowest points, lending a hand when I needed it most.

When my stepmother tried to sell me off to a man in his fifties, Luke stepped in, proposed and took me to this city.

I truly believed he was my prince. I thought I was stepping into a happy, stable life.

I had no idea it was all a setup.

Luke had always loved my sister. But my sister loved her freedom and didn’t want to be burdened by family life. So they used me.

They tricked me into marrying him.

I raised their child.

I saved their money.

I cooked, cleaned and served him—just a glorified housemaid under the title of a wife.

I reached up to wipe the tears that had unknowingly spilled down my cheeks.

Then I broke the rose in half. I threw the silver ring into the toilet and flushed it. Finally, I picked up the two marriage certificates and burned them.

Halfway through, the door creaked open.

Luke stepped in.

His nose twitched at the scent of burning paper. He furrowed his brows and snapped.

“What are you doing?”