Your Honor, I'm Back

On Thanksgiving, my husband Steven Mandel showed up with another woman.

Not just anyone—Fiona Osborne, his first love. She had Alzheimer's and only remembered him.

And yeah, he said she was moving in.

Steven's eyes were ice.

"Erica, I stayed away from Fiona out of duty. But I'm not wasting what time I have left without her."

Happy 50th anniversary to me. No gift—just a slap-in-the-face love confession.

Maya, my daughter-in-law, tried to talk some sense into him, bless her.

Then Anton—my own son—cut in.

"Mom already kept Dad away from Fiona for years. She's tied ME to you for half my life. Now Dad just wants to take care of the woman he loves—what's so wrong with that?"

Steven stepped in front of Fiona like some kind of hero. "Anton's right. Erica, I let you play the wife role for decades. Now, I want to be with the woman I truly love.

"If you can't handle that, let's just get a divorce."

I stood there, frozen.

I'd walked away from a powerhouse law career for this family after we had Anton. I thought I had given everything, and in their eyes, I would be a perfect wife and a perfect mother.

But today made it clear—I was never enough.

No matter how much I gave, it was never going to be enough.

I turned to Maya. She was crying. "You wanna get divorced together?"

Maya stared at me, stunned.

Steven and Anton? Ice-cold.

"Erica, seriously? At your age, and you still can't handle the truth?"

"Mom, stop the drama. You and Maya aren't young anymore. You don't even know how to do anything. What would you two even BE without me and Dad?"

I looked at the two men I'd spent my life holding up.

All I saw was annoyance.

This house I'd poured everything into?

Yeah—there was no room for me here.

Then Fiona Osborne let out this weird shriek and flipped the dining table.

All the food Maya and I had cooked? Smashed. Gone.

Steven Mandel didn't even glance my way.

He just scooped Fiona up like she was some fragile doll and led her back to her room.

I just stared, dazed.

In all our years, he'd never been that gentle—with me.

Anton Mandel glanced over, face blank.

"If you're done making a scene, clean up. I'm going to bed."

They both walked off, one after the other.

Maya and I were left in the wreckage, tossed aside like the trash on the floor.

My chest tightened.

Had they ever seen me as family?

But my body moved on autopilot. The second Anton spoke, I dropped to my knees and started cleaning.

Glass sliced my hand. Blood hit the floor.

My first instinct? Wipe it up fast—before Anton freaked about the mess.

Maya bolted for the first-aid kit.

Steven stormed out. "Why are you running around? There's a sick person trying to rest!"

Maya tried to explain. "Erica's bleeding—"

"It's just a scratch," he snapped. "Stop overreacting."

I looked at my hand.

The cut wasn't deep, but the Steven who used to fuss over a papercut didn't even flinch.

He grabbed the first-aid kit from me.

Said it had to stay ready—for Fiona.

It hit harder than the glass.

Maya wiped her eyes and helped me up.

"I'm leaving with you, Erica. We don't need these heartless men."

Maya used to be a broke student I sponsored.

She stayed with us for a bit, then accidentally got pregnant with Anton's kid.

They got married, just like that.

But over the years, we clicked. She wasn't just my daughter-in-law—we were real family.

I walked into the study and pulled out some paper.

Drafted two divorce agreements. One for her. One for me.

Once, I was a top lawyer.

Now, after all these years, I was finally looking at divorce papers again—

This time, for myself.

After a long night, the papers were finally done.

"Why isn't the place cleaned up? And where's breakfast?"

Steven's and Anton's voices echoed from the other room.

Maya and I slid the divorce papers in front of them.

They didn't even blink. Just tossed them aside.

"What are we supposed to do with these useless sheets? Where's breakfast?"

"Come on. Dad and I are working. You two just sit around expecting us to take care of everything. What more do you want?"

He really had no idea.

Every morning, I'd wake up three hours early just to make breakfast.

Hit the market, haul back fresh produce, cook from scratch.

Didn't matter. They were picky. Always had something to complain about.

Only Maya ever backed me up.

After they left, I'd clean the entire house.

Steven had control issues—everything had to be just so.

If he saw any of my stuff? Straight to the trash.

Said my things were junk.

Anton? Total neat freak. I scrubbed that place top to bottom almost every day.

Fifty years.

I did it all, exactly how they wanted.

They worked, sure. We moved into nicer homes.

But I was the one scrubbing floors—every time.

Then I got older.

Anton made Maya quit the job she'd held for over a decade—just to help me keep the house running.

I used to get it. They worked hard. So I never complained.

I figured they saw me too.

But now I know the truth.

To them, Maya and I were just unpaid maids.

I didn't bother arguing.

I bent down, picked up the divorce papers they'd tossed aside, and handed them back.

"You think we're a burden? Fine. Let's get divorced."