[19:54 Sat, 24 MY
Chapter 11
It had been a full week since I walked out of that house.
Seven days of silence. Seven days of breathing without being told how. Seven days of waking up without having to iron someone else’s shirt, or cook breakfast, or pretend to be happy.
I had checked into a small hotel using my savings. It wasn’t grand, but it was quiet. The kind of quiet that wrapped around you instead of swallowing you whole. I hadn’t yet decided where I’d go after this–what city, what street, what new life I’d carve out.
But for now, I was enjoying this in–between. This limbo of peace.
For the first time in twenty–five years, I slept through the night. No jolts at 4 a.m. to prepare breakfast. No footsteps stomping down the hallway. No voices barking my name as if I were an object misplaced.
Just me, the hum of the air conditioner, and the soft rustle of bedsheets I didn’t have to
wash.
Of course, ever since I left, Bradley hadn’t stopped trying to reach me.
I blocked his number, but he kept finding ways–burner phones, unknown numbers, texts, voicemails. It was laughable, really. The man who hadn’t noticed I was shrinking in that house for two decades was suddenly obsessed with finding me now that I was gone.
And then came the strangest message of all: What’s the password to the library room?
I stared at it, amused. That room held all his important files–his documents, business contracts, confidential records. He had always been too lazy to remember anything himself. I was the one who fetched them. Filed them. Guarded them like they were sacred.
So of course I chose a password he’d never forget–if he had cared to remember.
I typed my response with a bitter smile: My birthday.
I assumed that would be the end of it. But minutes later, my phone rang again. Another new number.
I shouldn’t have answered. But I did.
“Joyce?” Bradley’s voice came through, rough and annoyed. “When is your birthday?”
I laughed. Not the cute, shy kind of laugh. No, this was sharp. Cold. It spilled from me like a wound splitting open.
“You don’t know,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“We never celebrated it,” he replied. “What do you expect?”
Right. They never did.
I remembered every birthday of his, of our son, of Joseph. I planned parties, cooked meals, baked cakes. I even celebrated Maine’s birthday more than my own, making sure to buy her favorite perfume or bake the vanilla–strawberry cake she liked,
And then there was the year Bradley brought home a cake. I remember the flicker of he
that year. My heart jumping for a second. I thought… maybe he remembered. Just once.
Chapter 11
ריר
I remembered every birthday of his, of our son, of Joseph. I planned parties, cooked mealer baked cakes. I even celebrated Maine’s birthday more than my own, making sure to buy her favorite perfume or bake the vanilla–strawberry cake she liked.
And then there was the year Bradley brought home a cake. I remember the flicker of hope
that
year. My heart jumping for a second. I thought… maybe he remembered. Just once. But he handed me the box and said, “Got this for Maine. Her birthday’s today, right?” It wasn’t. It was mine.
I never corrected him. I never once said, You forgot me again.
And now, I could see how wrong I’d been–how wrong it was to allow that kind of erasure and call it love.
“My birthday?” I said, voice steady. “You’re really asking me that now?”
“Just tell me. Isn’t it hard? Joyce, come home. Enough with this hiding already. There’s a lot to do here. A lot to clean.”
I nearly dropped the phone from laughing.
I hated him at that moment. And also hated myself–for the years I let this be my So I didn’t hold back this time.
“Didn’t you see the papers?” I snapped. “I’m divorcing you, Bradley.”
normal.
“You think I care about that?” he hissed. “I didn’t agree to it. I ripped the damn thing up. It’s invalid.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” I whispered. “What else do you need from me? I’m done. Just go marry Maine. She’s the one you’ve always wanted.”
“No,” he snapped. “You don’t get to leave me. You belong here. With me. You think you can survive on your own? Come back to me. Now.”
“Come back to you?” My voice cracked. “You don’t even know my birthday.”
The line was silent.
“This,” I said, “will be the last time we speak.”
“You’re really going to leave your son too?” he threw in quickly, voice tight. “What about Mateo?”
I breathed in slowly.
“My son,” I said, “didn’t even tell me you were going to ‘marry‘ Maine. Even if it was just an act, he didn’t think I deserved to know.”
I paused, letting the silence settle between us.
“Am I supposed to keep caring for people who never once cared for me?” I whispered. “I’m tired, Bradley. For twenty–five years, I’ve poured every ounce of myself into a family that couldn’t be bothered to remember the day I was born.”
There was nothing left to say. So I said the last words he’d ever hear from me:
“I’m frosinn muralf”
Chanlar 11
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19:54 Sat, 24 May R
A
“Do you even hear yourself?” I whispered. “What else do you need from me? I’m done. Just go marry Maine. She’s the one you’ve always wanted.”
“No,” he snapped. “You don’t get to leave me. You belong here. With me. You think you can survive on your own? Come back to me. Now.”
“Come back to you?” My voice cracked. “You don’t even know my birthday.”
The line was silent.
“This,” I said, “will be the last time we speak.”
“You’re really going to leave your son too?” he threw in quickly, voice tight. “What about Mateo?”
I breathed in slowly.
“My son,” I said, “didn’t even tell me you were going to ‘marry‘ Maine. Even if it was just an act, he didn’t think I deserved to know.”
I paused, letting the silence settle between us.
“Am I supposed to keep caring for people who never once cared for me?” I whispered. “I’m tired, Bradley. For twenty–five years, I’ve poured every ounce of myself into a family that couldn’t be bothered to remember the day I was born.”
There was nothing left to say. So I said the last words he’d ever hear from me:
“I’m freeing myself.”
Then I ended the call.
And this time, I threw away my sim card, and sworn not to ever see them again.
