I'm Done: Sold Out for His Bastard Daughter

"Tell me, what do you want this time? Naomi, I've told you countless times—just be straightforward with me about what you want. Don't play these ridiculous games."

Julian pulled a card from his wallet and tucked it into my blouse. "This should keep you covered for a while."

Then he changed his clothes, pushed past me, and went to Rosy's room. The card hit the floor with a snap.

I stared at it for a long moment before letting out a bitter laugh. Apparently, I really wasn't any different from a housekeeper who needed money to be kept content.

I wiped the tears that were about to fall and turned toward Jude's room. He was awake, staring off into space.

At the sound of the door, he looked over and pouted slightly. "Mommy, did you fight with Daddy again?"

I shook my head. "Not exactly, but I want to leave Daddy. Will you come with me?"

Jude's eyes brightened. "Really? Mommy, I'm just like you—I'm not happy here at all. Whenever Rosy is upset, Daddy scolds me with a cold face. And if Rosy and I want the same thing, he always gives it to her. The toys I play with and the books I read are just the things Rosy didn't want and threw aside.

He wiggled his little fingers and asked, "If we leave, will my things really be mine?"

My eyes burned. My son should have been cherished and adored. Instead, he had grown up under Julian's relentless favoritism.

If he wasn't happy, the last reason I had for holding on to this marriage is gone. This marriage with Julian was over.

After settling the divorce terms with our lawyer, I spent the night in Jude's room.

I had barely closed my eyes when the bedroom door flew open. Julian's face was pale, and he yanked me off the bed. "Rosy has a high fever! What should we do?"

This was one of the rare times I had seen him truly panic. I instinctively glanced at sleeping Jude and tiptoed toward the door.

After making sure Jude's door was firmly shut, I turned to Julian. "Cool her down physically, call the housekeeper, then get her to the hospital. Julian, she has a fever. What do you expect me to do? I'm not a doctor."

Impatience flickered in his eyes, but for Rosy, he held himself back. "Naomi, you raised Rosy yourself. No one knows her like you do. She's burning up badly. Can you stop being so cold?"

That accusation hit me like a punch.

I let out a bitter laugh. If I were truly cold, the girl he loved would have died three years ago. Perhaps she inherited it from her biological mother—Rosy had always been sensitive and prone to allergies.

One time, Rosy had eaten a few lemon candies while we were away. The rash spread almost instantly, and her fair little face quickly turned blue.

I checked the home monitors constantly. I nearly panicked as I watched her crumple to the floor in pain. I ran through dozens of red lights, even smashing into a guardrail along the way.

By the time we got home, I was covered in blood. I gave her the allergy medicine and called an ambulance, collapsing from exhaustion afterward.

The hospital ambulance took us both. I suffered a severe concussion and three broken ribs. It took a full month before I could get out of bed, and during that entire time, Julian didn't even come to see me once.

Later, when I broke down and confronted him, Julian just glanced at me lightly. "You're not dead, are you? You're an adult now. If you can't drive safely, whose fault is that? Rosy's condition was worse anyway. She hasn't eaten properly in days.

"Hurry up and get out of the hospital—Rosy says she wants your cooking."

It was always the same. Whenever Julian needed something, I could be a doctor, a chef, or a housekeeper, but never the wife he truly respected and loved.