Not Your Weak Wife Anymore

The next morning, the sound of footsteps jolted me awake. I sat up quickly, my body tense, listening. The shuffle of skirts, the rustle of cloth, drawers being opened—people were in my room.

My hands gripped the blanket. “Who’s there?”

No one answered. The movements continued, steady and purposeful. Panic surged through me, hot and sharp.

I reached blindly toward the small table beside my bed, found the vase, and hurled it to the ground. It shattered into pieces with a violent crash.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?!” My voice cracked as it echoed against the walls.

The room went still for a heartbeat before a cool, practiced voice replied. “The master ordered us to pack your things. The new mistress will need this room for her clothes.”

The words hit me like ice water. I clenched the blanket until my knuckles ached. That voice… I knew it.

“Mildred.” My chest tightened. The head maid. The woman who had practically raised Carlisle and, later, my Emily. She was more than just staff; she was family once. But over the years, she had turned cold, her influence warping Emily’s heart against me.

I wanted to scream at her, to claw at the betrayal spilling through my veins, but my tongue stilled. If I fought her now, if I rebelled, there would be no way left to beg Carlisle to take me back. Mildred was too important.

She gave a sharp order to the others. “Continue.”

The maids resumed packing my things into boxes, each thud of folded fabric and click of latches like nails hammered into my coffin. My hands shook as I bit my nails, struggling to think. This had to be another phase—Carlisle’s way of punishing me whenever a new woman caught his eye. He always came back eventually. Always. This had to be Cosette’s idea, whispering poison into his ear, demanding more, demanding everything.

I couldn’t sit still. I stumbled out of the room, ignoring the startled gasps of the maids. My bare feet padded against the cool floors as I made my way toward the dining hall.

Halfway down the corridor, a sound stopped me cold.

Laughter. Emily’s laughter. Bright, genuine, the kind I hadn’t heard in years—not from me.

“Thank you, Ms. Cosette!” she chirped. “I really love this so much! You’re the best! I finally found someone with as much fashion sense as me!”

My chest tightened.

Cosette’s voice followed, playful and smug. “Oh, Emily, I’d be so happy if you could call me Mother. After all, I’ll be marrying your father soon.”

I froze. The words struck like a dagger. Marry? My knees weakened, and I clung to the wall for balance.

“What… what do you mean?” My voice slipped out before I could stop it.

Silence. Then Emily’s irritated tone: “What the... since when were you there?”

I staggered forward, each step heavier than the last. “Carlisle,” I called out desperately, searching for his presence. “What is she supposed to mean? I thought this was just another phase—like always. You kick me out when you have a new woman, but then you come back. That’s how it’s always been! But divorce? Marriage? With her? What—”

Emily cut me off, her words sharp as glass. “You’re really an idiot, Mom. Can’t you get it? Dad is going to marry Ms. Cosette—I mean, Mother Cosette. It’s a fact. And I love it! My idol is going to be my mother. Isn’t it great?”

Her voice was full of excitement, joy, pride—the kind of joy she had never once given me.

I staggered, the world tilting beneath my feet. A pain deeper than my illness, deeper than my blindness, pierced through me.

“Why?” My voice broke, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. “Why are you all doing this to me? I did everything for you. I accepted everything. Every phase. Every humiliation. I tried to understand, to endure, because I thought if I loved you enough, it would make up for my blindness. I thought love could replace everything I lacked.”

My shoulders shook. “Do you… do you even love me?”

The room was silent for a long moment. And then Carlisle’s voice finally came, calm and unflinching.

“Our marriage was a mistake.”

The air left my lungs.

“The woman I loved was your twin,” he continued coldly. “Selene. The reason I married you was because I thought I could feel her in you.”

Selene. My twin sister. My other half, who had died in the same accident that stole my sight.

My knees buckled, but I clung to the wall. “Selene…”

“I tried to love you, Emma,” Carlisle said, softer now, almost regretful—but the words still cut like blades. “But I couldn’t. The divorce settlement will be enough for you to live on. Don’t worry about Emily. She looks so much like Selene. I’ll take good care of her.”

His chair scraped against the floor. “Goodbye, Emma.”

The sound of his footsteps faded, leaving me surrounded by the echo of his words.

A mistake. That was all I had been.

The daughter I gave my soul for, the husband I clung to, the life I tried to preserve—all of it crumbled before me, and there was no light, no sight, no warmth left in the world.

Cosette’s laughter rang again, sweet and triumphant. “Well, that’s settled then.”

I stood rooted in place, shaking, as though my very bones were breaking.