Emily Wilson had always believed that love was sacrifice. That if she gave enough, stayed loyal enough, kept the house perfect and the meals warm, her husband would always stay. Her sons would always love her. Her place would always be secure.
But that illusion shattered on a rainy Thursday evening.
She had just pulled the roast from the oven when she heard the sound of the front door opening. Her heart skipped a beat. Tom had never been late before.
Her gaze turned toward the door just as Tom Wilson walked in, looking dry despite the pouring rain. He wasn't alone. A younger woman, tall, sleek, and undeniably confident, followed him into the house with a smile that made Emily's stomach twist.
Tom set his keys down on the counter and turned to her, his face blank. "Emily, this is Cassandra. She'll be staying with us."
Emily stood frozen in the kitchen, the warmth of the oven no longer enough to ward off the chill creeping over her skin. She stared at the woman standing at the threshold, her lips painted red, her gazecalculating, almost dismissive.
EMILY (voice trembling, uncertain):
"Staying... with us? Tom, who is she?" Her heart pounded, her words stumbling out in a mix of confusion and growing dread.
CASSANDRA (smirking, crossing her arms):
"Didn't he tell you?" Cassandra's voice dripped with false sweetness, but there was an edge to it that made Emily's blood run cold. "I'm the woman who makes him happy now. He's finally getting what he deserves."
EMILY (softly, her breath catching):
"What do you mean? I thought—"
Tom didn't let her finish. He cut her off, his voice cold, almost dismissive.
TOM (shrugging, not meeting her gaze):
"You knew this day would come, Emily. I told you, we were fine... but that was years ago. I need more than this." He gestured between them, as if their years together could be summed up with a flick of his hand. "You were always a good wife, but we're done now."
Emily felt the room spin as the sharp reality of his words hit her. It wasn't anger that rose in her chest, it was a profound sorrow—a sadness so deep it felt like it could swallow her whole. She tried to breathe, to steady herself.
EMILY (voice barely above a whisper, pleading):
"I gave you my whole life, Tom. I stayed home, I raised our sons... I put everything into this family." She looked at Cassandra, her gaze desperate, imploring. "And this... this is how it ends?"
But Tom didn't react. He just turned away, heading for the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine. No apology. No hesitation.
TOM (without looking at her, uncorking the bottle):
"Don't make this more dramatic than it needs to be. You'll figure it out."
CASSANDRA (sweetly, but with a cruel undertone):
"Tom's right, Emily. Don't be dramatic. You'll be fine." She stepped forward, brushing past Emily like she was nothing more than furniture. "He's already made his decision. Maybe you should, too."
Emily's fingers clenched around the serving spoon she still held, knuckles white, but she couldn't find the strength to respond. Instead, her gaze flickered to the dinner she'd prepared, the meal that had never been touched. It was as if the world had stopped spinning and left her in a void.