Let's Divorce, My Husband

I barely slept that night. My bones ached, my eyes burned, and my back throbbed from the hours I’d spent in the kitchen trying to replicate the cake Jackson had demanded. I’d searched all over downtown for that limited-edition confection, but it was sold out everywhere. Every store. Every vendor. Nothing.

So I did what I hadn't done in years—I baked it myself.

Once, long ago, I was a skilled pastry chef. I studied under masters. People used to wait in lines just to buy my cakes. I had dreams. A future. Then I gave it all up. Because Jackson said staying home would be better for us. That we’d save money. That he’d take care of me. I believed him.

And now I was exhausted, standing in the cold morning light of my kitchen, the cake cooling on the counter, the last thing I had to offer still intact. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.

Just as I sank into the worn-out couch to rest, a sudden burning sensation hit my arm. Boiling hot. I screamed and jolted upright, clutching my skin. Milk. Scalding milk.

I turned and saw Zane, my grandson, holding an overturned bottle with milk dripping from the rim. His small mouth twisted into a pout. “Feed me!” he snapped. “You’re the maid!”

Still wincing from the burn, I tried to keep calm. “Zane, where’s your mom?”

“She’s busy,” he muttered, stomping his foot. “I said I want you!”

I sighed, biting my tongue. I was starving. Still tired. Still in pain. But I got up anyway and trudged to the kitchen. I didn’t want another fight.

And that’s when I saw them.

Jackson. Tania. Donna. Even Tania’s husband. All of them gathered around the table—laughing, eating breakfast like some perfect, happy family. Donna’s face glowed with makeup, her curls bouncing as she spoke. She wore a pale blue designer dress I recognized from a high-end boutique downtown.

Donna turned to me, fake concern lacing her voice. “Oh, Trina, are you okay? You look weak. Maybe you need some rest.”

Before I could respond, Jackson chuckled without looking up. “Come on, Donna, she’s always like that. Always looks like she’s dying.”

Donna snorted. No one else said a word in my defense.

Then Jackson asked, “By the way, where’s the cake I ordered? The one I got for Donna?”

Donna blinked. “Wait—you bought a cake for me?”

Jackson puffed out his chest. “Yeah. Special limited-edition one. Downtown. Took me two hours to get it.”

They waited for me to serve the cake, so I stepped forward, holding the cake I’d spent all night baking. My heart pounded. My arms trembled.

“I made it,” I said softly. “You said you wanted that cake, but I couldn’t find it—so I baked it myself.”

I began walking toward the table, trying not to cry. Trying to hold my head high.

But just as I reached the middle of the room, Donna leaned slightly from her chair—sweet smile still plastered on her lips—and stuck her foot out.

My heel caught on it. I stumbled. The cake flew from my hands.

Time slowed. I watched, helpless, as the cake spun mid-air and landed face-first on Donna's expensive designer dress.

Gasps filled the room.

Donna shrieked. “My dress!”

Jackson jumped up from his seat and stormed toward me. “What the hell did you do?!”

Before I could explain, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked it back. My scalp burned.

“This dress costs more than your entire wardrobe!” he barked. “You can't even walk properly now? You’re clumsy, useless, and pathetic!”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“SHUT UP!” he roared. “Can you even pay for this? Of course not. You can't even take care of yourself. You're just wasting food now?!”

I stared at him, stunned. Donna pretended to reach for him. “It’s okay, Jackson. She must have slipped.”

“I don’t care! She’s so careless because she doesn’t know how to earn money like us!” Jackson pointed to the floor. “Eat it.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Eat the damn cake off the floor,” he said. “Or what—should we waste more money because of you? Don’t forget that you don’t contribute even a cent here!”

Tania stood, arms crossed, lips curled. “This is why you don’t have nice things. You’re really pathetic, Mom. I can’t believe you gave birth to me because we’re never alike. If only Donna was my mother.”

Donna made a fake whimper. “No, don’t say that, Tania. She’s a good mother to you, and it’s fine. Really. We can just get another one.”

But I could see the smirk she tried to hide as she leaned close to me and whispered, “Well, looks like no one wants you here anymore. I wonder why you’re still staying.”

I clenched my first. “I’m not eating that,” I whispered, barely able to breathe.

Jackson rolled his eyes and pushed past me. “Then clean it up. And don’t let me see your face again today.”

“Let’s just go celebrate somewhere else,” Tania said as she picked up her purse. “Without her.”

“Agreed,” Jackson muttered. “She’s not part of this family anyway.”

They laughed as they walked out the door.

I dropped to my knees, grabbing handfuls of cake and frosting, trying not to let the tears fall—but they did. They rolled silently down my face and onto the linoleum floor.

All these years. All this time. For what? I used to be someone. Once.

Before Jackson, I was Trina DeVere. Daughter of hotel tycoon Ricardo DeVere. The only heir to an empire. A girl with options. A future. And I gave it all up. For love. For him.

I told my father I didn’t want money. I wanted a home. A family. A man who’d love me for me.

I rebelled. I left. I cut all ties. And now… I was nothing more than a live-in maid. A burden. A shadow in my own house.

I crawled to the corner of the kitchen, pulled out my phone with frosting still on my fingers, and stared at the number I hadn’t dialed in twenty years.

My chest tightened. My fingers shook.

But I pressed call.

The line rang once.

Twice.

And then…

“Hello?” a deep, familiar voice answered.

My throat closed for a second. Then I managed to say, “Dad… it’s me. Trina. I’m sorry. For leaving. For hurting you. For everything. But… can I come home?”

There was silence.

“I don’t have anything left here,” I whispered. “Please… just let me come home.”