Goodbye, My Ex-husband! You're Nothing!

They turned off the porch light and left me in the dark.

When I came to, I was on the cold marble floor inside. My hair was wet, plastered to my cheeks. My hands and knees were blue from the chill. I smelled of rain, mud, and humiliation.

“Get up, Mom. You’re wetting the floor,” Maureen snapped. She kicked a mop towards me, her eyes rolling. “We have to prepare everything for Aunt Sasha’s party.”

I blinked up at her, my own daughter, her face a blurred echo of my youth—except harder, colder.

“Don’t be so harsh on your mother,” Sasha’s honeyed voice floated in. She crouched beside me, dabbing my forehead with a napkin. “She needs rest.”

Mike scoffed. “Rest? She’s our maid. That’s her only use here.”

Nico leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “Don’t pity her too much, Sasha. She ruined your dress, remember? Good thing you’re so kind you didn’t make her pay for it—she can’t afford it anyway.”

Sasha brushed my hair back gently, lips close to my ear. “Hear that?” she murmured so only I could hear. “You’re nothing but a useless maid now. Don’t make this harder. You know you have no room here.”

She turned to the others, her voice sweet again. “Let me help you up, Karylle.” She grabbed my arm, but I wrenched it away, pushing her hand off me. Sasha stumbled back, eyes wide.

“Oh—sorry—” She clutched her elbow dramatically. “You don’t have to push me so hard.”

Mike’s face twisted with rage. “What is wrong with you? You’re hurting her now? Stop making everything about you!”

Tiny footsteps padded across the floor. Micah appeared, her little nose scrunched in disgust. “You’re bad, Grandma. You’re fighting Aunt Sasha. I don’t like you!” She spat at my feet and ran off giggling.

Nico clicked his tongue. “Let’s go. She’s a pain in the ass. Always has been.”

One by one, they drifted away—Mike’s arm draped around Sasha’s shoulders like she was the queen of this house. Maureen disappeared into the hallway without looking back. I picked myself up, wiping the spit off the floor with my sleeve.

In my room—the room that used to be mine—I started opening old boxes. Photographs, dried flowers, concert tickets, cards with sweet words I used to believe. Our wedding portrait, the edges yellowed. Nico and I in our school uniforms, smiling like fools who thought forever was simple.

I tossed them all into the fireplace. Watched as the flames swallowed every lie I ever told myself about family, love, loyalty. The smell of burning paper was acrid but strangely sweet.

The next day, the house came alive. Glittering lights, trays of food, music. Sasha’s birthday. Her laughter rang through the halls like bells announcing my funeral. No one looked my way as I carried drinks, refilled glasses, cleaned up their careless spills.

“Is that her? Mike’s wife?” I heard someone whisper behind me. “I thought she was the maid.”

Their laughter followed me like a curse. My feet ached from standing, my arms burned from lifting heavy trays, but I kept going. Just five more days. Five more days and I’d never hear them again.

I passed by the window, catching my reflection—tired eyes, frizzy hair, a ghost wrapped in an apron. Sasha clinked her glass with Mike’s, her perfect red dress hugging her like it was made for her. They kissed under the fairy lights as if I wasn’t even there.

I poured more champagne for their guests, their snickers and side-eyes slipping off me like water on glass. I kept repeating it in my head like a prayer: Five more days. Just five more days.

Then I would be gone. And they would never see me again.