The cold, stale air of the storeroom seemed to mirror the emptiness in my heart. The pictures in the wooden box were faded, the edges curled with age, but the memories they held were vivid, almost painfully so.

There I was, younger, vibrant, bathed in stage lights, a microphone clutched in my hand, a roar of applause echoing in my ears.

I remembered the thrill of performing, the raw joy of connecting with an audience through music. That Sabrina, the one who lived and breathed for the stage, felt like a ghost from another lifetime. A lifetime I’d willingly, foolishly, given up for David.

"I want a divorce from my husband of thirty years."

The words, once a terrified whisper in my mind, now rang with a newfound clarity as I spoke them into the phone. On the other end, the familiar voice of my lawyer, Mrs. Greta, sounded surprised.

"Mrs. Cooper? Is everything alright? This is quite a shocker."

“It's rare for people to get divorce after spending such a long time together.”

"No, Mrs. Greta, nothing is alright. And it's not sudden. It's thirty years overdue," I replied, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hand that clutched the phone. "I want out.”

I heard her jotting down notes. "Of course, Mrs. Greta. Can you come to my office tomorrow morning? We'll discuss the details."

"Yes. Nine AM. I'll be there."

I hung up, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through me. It was terrifying, this leap into the unknown, but also liberating. The thought of breaking free, of reclaiming myself, was a powerful current pulling me forward.

That night I quietly walked to my room. David, who was busy on his phone, smirked looking at me.

“You didn't find the boots, did you?” He barked, still the same intensity of anger in his eyes.

I clutched the phone in my hands before I turned to him and said lazily. “I’m tired, David.”

After throwing out these words, I simply laid beside him, my heart racing in my chest.

Just as I expected, David got up from the bed. He threw the pillow on my face and yelled. “From next time, don't ruin my moment with Kate if you can't fix it!”

Having said that, he walked out of our bedroom. He sat in the living room and turned on the TV. Kate's sweet voice in the interview pierced my ears as they echoed through the hall.

Two drops of tears rolled down my cheeks. Kate, my best friend, was the woman David originally wanted to marry.

If she wouldn't have been so ambitious to go after a man richer than David, he wouldn't have even thought about marrying me no matter how many sacrifices I had already made for him.

I still remember the day David asked me to marry him. It was a sunny afternoon, and we were sitting in the small café near my college.

David took my hand, his eyes filled with a sincerity I had grown to trust. "Sabrina, from the moment I met you, I knew you were special," he said, his voice low and gentle.

"You're kind, caring, and you make me feel seen in a way no one else ever has. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

At that moment, I believed him. I believed that he loved me for who I was, that he valued my sacrifices and my love. I said yes without hesitation, thinking that I had found my partner, my best friend, my soulmate.

But now, as I looked back, I realized that it was all a facade. David had wanted Kate, with her ambition and her drive. I was just a consolation prize, a Plan B.

The thought stung so deep, I could not sleep the whole night. Kate’s voice continued echoing through my ears.

The next morning, I dressed meticulously, not in the drab clothes I usually wore for housework, but in a simple, elegant knee length dress I hadn't touched in years.

My reflection in the dusty storeroom mirror showed a woman with shadows under her eyes and a tired slump to her shoulders, but also a flicker of something new—resolve.

But, as I passed the living hall, Rosemary stood before me, her arms crossed. “Why haven't you washed Max’s room yet? And the kitchen, it's a whole mess!”

“Mom, where is the breakfast? You know I leave early for work.” Ethan yelled from behind, his voice laced with disappointment.

“Grandma Sabrina! You are such a fool and stupid. Why don't you go to school to learn something?” Max, my six years old grandson, barged in the living room, dressed in his school uniform.

His voice laced with childish cruelty as he complained.

“I asked you to put the Maths book in my bag pack, but you put the Science book instead. Now, I have to go back upstairs to put the correct book inside.”

“Why will you exhaust yourself, son? The one who made the mistake, will correct it.” Rosemary snapped back at me, her tone commanding as always.

“Why are you standing still? Go upstairs and change the books, Mom.” She had added turning to me.

“I’ll not!” I said, my voice stern. “If you have a problem with my work, then do it yourself.”

My refusal hung in the air, a shocking silence falling over the living room. Rosemary's eyes widened, her jaw dropping slightly.

Ethan, halfway into the kitchen, spun around, his expression a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

Even Max, who usually held court with his childish pronouncements, looked momentarily stunned.

"You'll not?" Rosemary repeated, her voice low and dangerous. "What exactly did you just say, Mom?"

"I said, I'll not," I repeated, my voice gaining strength with each word. "If you have a problem with my work, then do it yourself. Max is your son, Rosemary. His room, his books—they're your responsibility."

Ethan finally chimed in, "Mom, what's gotten into you? You know Rosemary has an important meeting. You've always handled these things."

"And I've handled them for thirty years," I countered, my gaze sweeping from Ethan to Rosemary. "I've cooked, cleaned, managed this house, and taken care of everyone's needs. And what have I received in return? Mockery, disrespect, and an utter lack of gratitude."

Max, recovering from his surprise, piped up, "Grandma Sabrina is being mean! She's supposed to help me!"

Rosemary stepped forward, her face hardening. "Don't you dare speak to us like this, Mom. You're a freeloader. You don't contribute anything to this family financially. The least you can do is manage the house."

"A freeloader?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Is that what you call the woman who bought this very house we're standing in?”

“The woman who gave her college fund to your father so he could study abroad? The woman who poured her life savings into his 'struggling business' when he had nothing?"

Their faces, usually so confident in their disdain, finally showed a flicker of shock. They knew about some of it, of course, but I had never thrown it back in their faces like this.

I struggled to breathe with this argument and decided to end it. So, I added. “I have an appointment with my doctor. I’m getting late for it.”

With that I turned to leave but a low whisper escaping through Rosemary’s lips left me stunned.

“Appointment with the doctor, my foot! Does she still think we are believing her ‘diagnosed with cancer' nonsense?”

“I didn't expect Mom to go that far in seeking attention that she would fake her own disease. She is such a sham on our family.” Ethan added, his voice laced with ridicule.

I couldn't believe my ears. So, all this time they had been thinking I was lying about my sickness?

My own son accused me of being an attention seeker and causing unnecessary drama in the home. I clutched the medical reports in my hands, letting the tears soaked me completely, for one last time.

Because after today, nothing will matter to me anymore.

I went to see my doctor. After doing routine check-up, he let me go with strict instructions of taking rest and living stress free which I doubt I could do unless I get divorce from David.

Thus, I finally made my way to see advocate Greta.

At Mrs. Greta’s office, the atmosphere was quiet, professional. She listened patiently as I recounted years of emotional neglect, the financial exploitation, the constant humiliation.

I laid bare the story of my college fees, the house I’d bought, the life savings I’d given David for his business. It felt like shedding layers of old, painful skin.

"Do you have any documentation for these financial contributions, Mrs. Cooper?" she asked, her pen poised.

I nodded. "Yes. I kept everything. Bank statements, property deeds, old receipts. Even letters from David acknowledging the money."

Over the years, a quiet, almost subconscious part of me had known, had prepared for a day like this.

"Excellent," she said, a faint smile touching her lips. "This strengthens your case significantly."

We discussed alimony, property division, and the daunting process ahead. It wouldn't be easy. David would fight. Ethan and Rosemary would undoubtedly side with him.

But for the first time in decades, I felt a flicker of hope, a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, I could finally be Sabrina again. The Rina who sang on stage, the Rina who dared to dream.

“But, since its separation after a long thirty years, the Civil Court will give you a chance to think about your decision.”

“Once the time of formality passed by, I’ll send you the divorce agreement.” Mrs. Greta had added.

“Thank you, Mrs. Greta. I’ll be waiting for your call then.” I replied.

As I came back to my home, I found the house filled with constant laughter and giggling sounds.

However, the laughter came to an abrupt halt with the sound of my footsteps, everyone staring at me with disdain as if I just ruined their day just by existing in their life.

“Grandma Sabrina!” Max was the first one to acknowledge my presence, but his voice laced with mockery as he added.

“You thought we would starve to death if you didn't cook for us. But see… Grandma Kate has brought us delicious dishes.”

“They are much better than what you cook for us– plain and boring!”

“She is so selfless and kind. She booked three more tickets for the Alps as her return gift and let us join her and Grandpa David.” Max exclaimed with joy.

“Sabrina…” Kate’s voice sounded from behind. I turned to look at her, who was sitting next to David on the couch.

She walked straight to me, her voice laced with feign sorrow. “There were only three tickets left. I’m sorry, I couldn't buy any tickets for you.”

I stood there, a strange calm settling over me amidst the chaos of my family’s derision and Kate’s faux sympathy. The words “plain and boring” echoed in my mind, then Kate’s apologetic tone about the tickets.

It was a familiar dance, one I had unwittingly led for decades. But not anymore.

I met Kate’s gaze, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips. “Don’t apologize, Kate,” I said, my voice clear and steady, devoid of the tremor it usually held when confronting them.

“It’s perfectly alright. I wouldn’t have been able to go anyway.”

Rosemary, who had been observing with narrowed eyes, scoffed. “Right. Too busy with your ‘appointments,’ I suppose?”

The sarcasm was thick, a venomous edge to her words.

Ethan snickered, and even David, from the couch, offered a dismissive wave of his hand, clearly enjoying the spectacle of me getting mocked by our children.

“Oh, I heard you are diagnosed with cancer?” Suddenly Kate spoke, a feign concern on her face.

“I hope everything is okay with you.” She had added, shooting a short glance at Rosemary.

It was obvious they were making fun of my sickness. They did not believe I was sick at all.

“Yes, Mom. What did your doctor say today?” Ethan asked, his voice provocative. It sounded as if he was making fun of me. Even a six years old Max knew it was some kind of a joke that was followed with his loud laughter in the hall.

“Max…” Rosemary shut him down, but deep down her expressions showed she was enjoying it as well.

I clutched the medical reports in my hands, my legs shivered in anger as I threw the reports in front of David.

“You can read it yourself and see if I’m lying. I’m really sick, David.” I spat.

I held back the tears formed in my eyes. I didn't want to shed my tears for the people who didn't even care about me. Not anymore!

Having said that, I walked up the stairs to leave for my room. That's when I heard Kate’s voice,

“I can't believe she went so far as to create fake medical reports. What the hell is wrong with her?”

“We all love you, Grandma Kate. That's why Grandma Sabrina is jealous. So, she is faking her sickness to get our attention.” Max’s voice cut deeper through my heart.

Even a child in the house didn't respect me at all!

Kate sighed, “She has always been like this. Jealous and arrogant.”

“I feel so sorry for all of you for having to tolerate her for all these years.”

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. The words cut deep, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Kate, David, Ethan, Rosemary, and even little Max were all ganging up on me, mocking my illness and questioning my integrity.

I thought about all the sacrifices I'd made for this family, all the times I'd put their needs before mine. And this was how they repaid me?

I walked into my room, shutting the door behind me. I leaned against the door, my heart heavy with emotion. I felt like I was alone in this family, like no one truly cared about me or my well-being.

I looked around my room, feeling like a stranger in my own home. The furniture, the decorations, everything seemed foreign to me. They were all selected by Kate. I was told– her tastes are better than mine.

Even the walls of my bedroom were filled with pictures of David and Kate together, hiking, camping, climbing the mountain, laughing and giggling. Not a single picture of mine was hung in my own bedroom. They all belonged to Kate.

I felt like I was living in a dream, a dream that was slowly turning into a nightmare.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I knew I couldn't let their words get to me. I knew I had to be strong, for myself and for my own sake.

I had just laid in bed, recalling my doctor's warning. “You didn't follow our instructions and exhausted your body. I’m afraid you wouldn't even survive six months if you still don't give yourself rest.”

I had finally decided to not listen to anyone and live my life the best for the next six months if I had left that much time.

Suddenly the door of the room pushed open and David barged in, still carrying the medical reports in his hands.

“Are you done throwing tantrums?” He spat. “If you are done putting on an act, go pack my bag. We are leaving for the Alps tomorrow.”