I thought it was done out of love until the gender of the baby was revealed.

He was shaken, and then I conceived the second child as a girl.

“You…you want to cook? But Boss…” She goes off to say something, but I interrupt with a wave of hand.

“Don’t worry about his responses. This is what my instruction says.”

For I thought to myself, "It was time I stopped relying on Richard and started doing things I cherish."

She nods without questioning further. I can tell she wants to say more but thinks against it.

Then I go up the stairs en route to my bedroom on the second floor.

While I'm locked in, I pull down my dress and walk nakedly to the bathtub in the restroom, where I exfoliate my body with a gentle scrubber.

Stepping out of the bathtub with water dripping from my body, I head straight to the bedroom.

I open my wardrobe, reach out for an old red silk dress that hasn't been worn in years, and take two steps to stare at my reflection in the mirror close by.

The woman looking back at me feels like a stranger.

Eyes dull, shoulders drooped, and beauty faded under months of loneliness and regrets.

A tear drops from my eyes without restraint.

I slip the dress under my feet, wearing it to my satisfaction whilst looking down at the reflection of my lean figure. The same dress Richard hated with passion.

Leaving the room, a hint of a satisfactory smile tugs at my lips for the first time in years.

Downstairs, I begin cooking the meals meant for dinner. At this time, most of the ingredients were already arranged by the servants.

Martha moves swiftly as she hands me whatever I call for. When the time comes for the chopping of the vegetables, I do so effortlessly to the amazement of the watchers.

For a moment, everything goes peacefully, forgetting my current predicament and the nightmare that I face.

I don't think about anything else, just the stirring of the pot and the humming sound I make to myself.

Until some loud footsteps echo from the hallway and pause right at the entrance of the kitchen.

This action makes almost everyone turn in the direction. Except me.

“My Lady.” A guard greets, bowing slightly. “The Boss seeks your presence. He's in the living room.”

My spoon stills midway. My heartbeat increases a thousand times. Every hair in my body springs up.

Whenever Richard outrightly sends for me, things do not end well.

I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and follow the guard, careful to keep my face blank.

When I reach there, Richard is relaxed on a couch, blankly staring at the TV far away and tapping his lean fingers thoughtlessly.

Perhaps he heard me coming because he briefly turns aside, then back at the TV.

“I wanted to inform you not to wait up for me tonight.”

I blink, not understanding what he is speaking about. “What's going on tonight?”

Still not diverting his attention, he sighs tiredly. “I have long past falling for your schemes and filthy approaches, woman.”

“If you are dumb, you might as well get yourself admitted into a psychiatric hospital for proper treatment.”

My shoulders droop in defeat, and all I hear myself saying is, “Okay.”

He glances at me for a fleeting moment, sending that kind of gaze that is somewhere between indifference and deep loathing.

“I heard you're cooking. And whatever you cook shouldn't be given to anyone under this roof. Your incapability shouldn't be passed.”

My throat tightens. Not just from sadness but also as a feeling of utter disdain.

This is what I have gone through in my few years of marriage.

He grabs his keys, springing to his feet, and pushes me off the way till I stumble. He walks away without a second glance.

I should weep. I am supposed to cry, but no reaction comes from me.

All I do is stand there for a while, staring into space.

And as soon as the sound engine of his car is heard, a migraine comes in my head.

I grip my forehead, feeling everything slowly blur and move in circles.

I fall to the ground, grasping the side of my head as the pain intensifies.

My stomach starts churning, and nausea develops. I hold onto my head tight, hoping someone comes to my aid.

Just when darkness is about to kick in, I hear a frightened voice screaming my name.

“My Lady!” Martha appears right by my side, her fearful eyes immediately searching my face. “Are you okay?”

I smile, and I nod even though I'm far from it. “I am.”

She sighs, picks me up from the floor and checks my temperature with the back of her palm.

“I am no doctor, but it is certain you've developed a high fever. Let me inform the family's doctor.”

She moves to take the telephone by the side of the first couch, but I grasp her hand before she can do anything.

“Don't do that. It's all fine. It's just a small headache.” I say in dismissal.

She studies my face carefully, then exhales, moving closer, her old hands hovering over mine.

“Then you must take a good rest. Stop getting yourself worked up concerning this matter. Go to sleep.” She advises.

I force a smile, though it's weak, almost invisible. “It’s all right, Martha. I'll take a nap.”

She stares longingly at me, then taps my shoulder. “You don't deserve this kind of maltreatment. Whatever decision you make, you have my full support.”

Reaching the stairs, I take a sudden pause and look back at her wearied eyes.

Perhaps she thought the worst had happened to me.

“What day is it?”

“30th of July, ma'am.” She answers confusingly.

I nod. “What comes up at that time?”

She pauses, contemplating whether to tell me the truth or not. “The date was set aside for you and Boss to produce more babies. Particularly a male child.”

“Oh!” I say, wondering why I couldn't recall. “I'll go sleep now.”

Closing the door, I rest on it for a brief time. By the time I have laid on the bed, I have thought on what decision to make.

Something to heal the pain and stop it from recurring. Something to ease the sleepless nights and unstoppable silent tears.

I need a divorce.

Early the next morning, I walk down to the kids’ room and get them ready for school.

In time past, I had left everything concerning my kids’ welfare in the hands of the homeworkers because I was too busy with satisfying my husband.

I was too busy chasing after shadows and wishing every damn thing would come my way.

To the extent that I have no single idea on what happens to my kids at school.

A few workers are already attending to them when I walk in. So I tell them to leave while I take over.

In less than twenty minutes, I finish dressing the girls and keeping their bags on their backs.

“Come on, angels,” I whisper, fixing their bowties. “We'll be late.”

They stare at me awkwardly like I'm an alien from a different planet. But I do not mind because I know I'm paying for my errors.

And I'm ready to make up for every single stupid action I made.

“Will Daddy also come with us?” Amelia, the second kid asks.

“No, he's not.” I declare, leaving no room for further talks.

The drive to Rivendell Schools seems quiet except for the frequent chatter of my daughters in the back seat.

Their carefree, innocent laughter fills the car, and I cannot help but look back at them.

I drive into the school's premises and halt at the parking lot.

Then I round the car, open the door, and allow them out.

Many more kids are seen either trekking with their guardians or alighting from vehicles.

Just at the entrance of the main building, I stoop so low, kneeling to hug them goodbye.

“Be good, girls.” I say kissing their cheeks.

They look horrified for a while, running off with their pink backpacks bouncing.

Watching them brings a kind of relief to the ache in my chest.

I exhale and get up, moving to leave when the corner of my eye catches two figures afar.

At first, I want to ignore them, but realizing the whispers are certainly concerning me, I slow down to listen attentively.

“Isn’t she Richard Warren’s wife? Also known as the only wife amongst mistresses?” One asks.

“Of course, she is. She's been suffering lately and looks even lean. Can't you see?” The other concurs.

“This is what you get for not birthing a male child in a prominent family like the Warrens.”

“Hahahahaha.” They cackle and return to their businesses when an icy glare comes from me.

Town gossips who take delight at other people's misfortune.

I walk past them with my head high, unlocking my car and sliding into the driver's seat and speeding out of the premises.

As one of the publicly known wives in Boston, I have learned lessons that it is better to refute or ignore gossip than allow it to get to you.

If you are moved by them, you will become dirt that people trample upon.

I turn on the radio as soon as the car hits the expressway.

This is something I do once in a while to divert my thinking.

But on this day, I regret turning it on. I regret listening because the next news crushes everything within me.

In a twinkle of an eye, all the buried agony comes crashing on me by a single public announcement.

I halt in the middle of the road regardless of the blaring horns behind me.

“In relation to this, billionaire executive Richard Warren has reportedly gotten engaged to his newly found lover and sixth mistress, Clara Steele, after many months…”

”...sources have noted that the engagement took place at a private dinner two nights ago. And it seems the couple is expecting a child together.”

A lone tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.

Every single word replays in my head.

My husband, the father of my daughters, is publicly engaged to his sixth mistress.

This is a man I gave my youth, my dreams, my body and my peace to.

A man I loved with the whole of my heart, hoping it is reciprocated.

And he gives me disgrace and loneliness in return.

I sniff and start up the engine. Not anymore. I am done being used as a filthy rag and dumped.

I turn the car around and head straight for the city's court.

The building looms tall with an imposing facade under the morning sun.

It has a dignified, formal appearance with stone walls and a wide staircase.

Inside are a few attorneys lurking around, either to check in, review files, or negotiate with their potential clients.

A male clerk looks up as I approach the counter.

“Good morning, ma'am. How can I help you?”

My voice comes out calm and steady. “I need divorce papers.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, but he says nothing. Then he nods, producing a set of documents with six to ten pages.

“Fill this out and return it when due. The filing fees, service fees, and legal fees are $2,120 in estimate. A family law attorney will be given to navigate the divorce proceedings.”

I pick up the document and head back to my car. For the first time in six years, I realize I'm about to set myself free.

By the time I return home, two hours have already passed.

A few homeworkers stop to greet me as I walk through the doors, heading directly to the living room.

But then I stop, noticing that the TV is blaring and what is being displayed on the screen is Richard's engagement with Clara Steele.

The lady flashes a diamond ring at the screen and grins shamelessly like the whore she is.

But that doesn't catch my attention.

It is the creaking sound of the couch.

Sitting on the couch, legs crossed and smirking, is Rina Warren, Richard's second sister.

She looks too comfortable, like someone who belongs in this house more than I do.

A smirk tugs at her perfectly painted lips as she rises to face me.

“Well, well, look who we have here. If it isn't the famous wife herself. She must have been weeping on hearing the news.” She mocks in derision.

While I ignore her and keep walking toward the stairs.

“Don't you dare walk past me.” She snaps.

I pause and slowly turn. ”What is it, Rina?”

If anything, I am older than her in age.

But because of the high level of disrespect I have faced in Richard's house, almost every member of his family talks to me anyhow.

Her lips curl into a mocking smile. “You saw the news, didn't you? The whole city's talking about it. My brother's finally getting what he earnestly longed for.”

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to slap the smugness off her face.

“You mean what the family forced him to think he deserves?”

Her smile broadens. “Don't act like an omega. He was never happy with you. You kept giving birth to the weaker gender. You couldn't give him a son.”

The words hit like ice, and I take a slow breath, choosing my words carefully.

“You are also a girl, after all.”

Her face falls, and her smile vanishes. For the first time it looks like I have won the battle.

“You… What happened to the timid, obedient wife who barely had the guts to retort?”

I meet her gaze, unwaveringly. “Go look for her. She isn't me. She's gone.”

And without another word, I resume the stairs, taking slow breaths to pacify my anger.

Martha meets me along the hallway on the second floor.

She greets me, but my voice is distant and detached, like I am speaking to her from afar.

I walk past her before she can form words. I don't have the energy to stand on my feet for a longer time.

Inside my room, I shut the door noiselessly and lean against it, exhaling deeply.

My gaze falls on the framed wedding photo sitting gently on the dresser.

In there, our smiles look real in the photo.

My white wedding gown shimmers, my eyes glow, and Richard's hand is firmly around my waist.

We look happy. Rather, I look happy.

Remembering all those promises and vows makes me nearly puke.

I walk toward the dresser and pull out a brown file on the last drawer.

The divorce papers, still in my left hand, feel lighter than they should.

I take up a pen and sign and write on the necessary lines before placing them inside the brown file.

Then bit by bit, I begin folding my belongings into neat piles. Every single damn thing I own.

Halfway through packing, something drops to the floor, and I bend low to pick it up.

It is the ultrasound photo of my second baby, Amelia. A small shape barely visible within the dark shadow.

Richard cursed the hell out of me that day.

Once my bags of luggage are full, I walk down to the kid's room: the nursery.

My two daughters’ clothes and dolls are neatly arranged at the edge of the bed.

Walking to their closet, I pick up their tiny dresses one by one, placing them with care.

It strikes me how fast they have grown. Grace is five now, Amelia three.

Back in my room, I take the brown files and head straight to Richard's private quarters upstairs.

The door is locked as always.

A young maid passing by unexpectedly pauses, looking startled to see me standing there.

She looks down at the file I'm holding.

“Do you want to deliver the file to Boss?”

I nod.

“You can drop it in his gym. He never misses a day.”

I nod and make my way there.

The gym is silent with rows of treadmills, dumbbells, stationary bikes, barbells, and other equipment I do not know.

Quietly, I place the brown file on the treadmill and return to my room.

Rolling out the bags of luggage with that of my kids, I call one of the maids, who signals the guards to assist.

Together we roll the bags from the stairs to the living room.

Rina's nowhere around the mansion, so my exit isn't stopped by anyone.

The guards place the last of the luggage into the booth of the car.

I stand for a moment, staring up at the mansion that was once my dream, my hope.

I climb into the car, start the engine, and watch the gates roll slowly.

Behind me, the house gets smaller and smaller until it disappears completely in the rearview mirror.