Not Your Weak Wife Anymore

I coughed so hard my ribs ached, each spasm tearing through my chest like claws. The sound of the television filled the living room, bright and merciless, a voice announcing the world outside my prison.

“Carlisle Huxley arrives with his partner, the award-winning actress Cosette Montello…”

Partner. Mistress. Lover. Whatever name they gave her, the meaning was the same. My husband stood before the cameras with another woman on his arm. I could imagine it clearly: Carlisle in his dark suit, smiling for the press, while Cosette glittered in her designer gown. The world would cheer for them. They looked perfect together, didn’t they?

Another cough seized me, this time so violently that I tasted iron. My hand shot to my lips, and the sticky warmth told me enough—it was blood.

The door banged open. “MOM!” Emily’s voice carried sharpness rather than concern. Her footsteps clicked against the polished floor as she marched closer.

“What did you do to the laundry?!” she demanded. “You were supposed to handwash it, but it looks disgusting! You’ve ruined everything again.”

“I tried,” I whispered hoarsely, clutching my skirt to hide the stains on my hand. “I thought I scrubbed them carefully…”

Emily scoffed. “Carefully? Don’t lie. You can’t do anything right. That’s why Dad never takes you anywhere. That’s why nobody wants to show you off. You’re useless—an idiot. And blind.”

Her words struck deeper than any blade. My daughter, the child I had carried, kissed, sung to sleep, now looked at me with nothing but contempt. I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the disgust in her tone.

Another cough rattled up from my chest, unstoppable. I bent forward, gasping.

Emily’s voice came again, colder than before. “Stop coughing already—you’ll ruin the expensive carpet. Why are you even in the living room? Just stay in your little room where you belong.”

Her footsteps retreated, the door slamming shut behind her.

I sat frozen, her cruelty echoing long after she left. My chest burned, my lungs ached, and when I pressed my fingers to my lips again, the blood was still there. Shame and sorrow tangled inside me until I could barely breathe.

Maybe she was right. Maybe this was all my fault. If I hadn’t lost my sight, I could have cared for them properly. If I were stronger, prettier, more capable, Carlisle wouldn’t have strayed to Cosette. Emily wouldn’t despise me. I wouldn’t be sitting here like an intruder in my own home.

With trembling hands, I pulled myself to my feet, gripping the furniture for balance. Slowly, step by step, I made my way down the familiar path to the staff room—my room now. Once, this house had been mine. Now I was hidden away like something shameful.

I collapsed onto the narrow bed, the ache in my chest overwhelming. Darkness swallowed me, heavy and merciful, dragging me into sleep.

When I woke, a strange pressure tugged at my hand. My fingers were moving against paper, guided by someone else’s grip.

I stiffened. “Who’s there?”

“Stop resisting, for fuck’s sake,” a man’s voice snapped.

My heart dropped. Carlisle.

“Carlisle?” My throat closed up with dread. “What are you doing? What are you making me write?”

His reply was flat, merciless. “It’s a divorce agreement.”

My breath caught. “No… no, please.” I struggled, but his grip was unyielding. “I don’t want this. Carlisle, don’t do this to me. I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you ask, just—don’t leave me.”

His hand pressed mine down harder, forcing the strokes. “You'll do anything for me, huh? Then do me a favor... quietly accept this divorce.”

Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head. “What will happen to me? To our children? Carlisle, I can’t survive without you.”

But he didn’t care. My hand was forced downward, the stamp pressing into the paper with brutal finality. The vibration shuddered through me, hollow and cold.

It was done. Against my will, it was done.

He pulled back, folding the document. “It’s finished.”

“Carlisle—” My voice broke, but he didn’t answer. His footsteps moved toward the door, the hinges creaking as he opened it. Cold air swept into the room for a moment before the door clicked shut.

Silence fell. My body trembled as another cough shook me, hot blood burning in my throat.

Then—footsteps again. Lighter. Slower. It's definitely not Carlisle’s.

The door shut, and a soft laugh, sweet and poisonous, filled the air. “Oh, Emma. Left all alone already?”

My stomach twisted.

Cosette.

She didn’t rush. Her heels tapped lazily against the floor as she circled me like a predator. “He didn’t even wait until morning, did he? That’s how desperate he was to be rid of you.”

I clutched the sheets, my knuckles white. “Why are you here?” I managed, my voice shaking.

“To remind you,” she whispered, her perfume thick around me as she leaned close, “that this house, this family, your husband—they’re mine now.”

I flinched, but she only laughed softly.

“Tomorrow, you’ll be gone. And when you leave, Emma, don’t expect anyone to miss you. Not Carlisle. Not your children. Certainly not me.”

Her laughter trailed like smoke as she moved toward the door.

“But do rest well tonight,” she added, her tone sharp, cruel. “Tomorrow will be… unforgettable.”

The door clicked shut.

And I was left in the dark, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. Her words echoed inside me, each one a blade.

Tomorrow.

Something was coming. And I didn’t know if I would survive it.