Charlene's POV
Some mornings arrive with a weight you can't explain. You wake up already knowing something is off. It isn't heavy enough to crush you—but it lingers. Like a warning you don't yet understand. That morning felt exactly like that.
I woke up early. The mansion was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that feels deliberate. Even the staff moved softly, voices low, footsteps careful. No one rushed. No one laughed.
It was as if the house itself was waiting.
I was in the kitchen, preparing coffee. I was used to its bitterness, but that day it felt sharper, more pronounced. Before I even tasted it, my chest tightened.
"Ate Charlene."
I turned to see Lily standing by the doorway, her favorite stuffed toy clutched against her chest. She smiled, but there was something tired in her eyes.
"Good morning," I said gently.
She nodded. "I couldn't sleep."
I didn't ask why. Some nights don't come with answers. I pulled a chair closer and she sat beside me. We stayed quiet, watching the steam rise from the coffee and fade into the air.
I wanted that moment to last. I wanted to believe it was enough.
But silence never stays kind for long.
A car pulled up outside.
At first, I ignored it. Visitors weren't unusual here. But then I heard a voice.
"Kerill."
My spine went cold.
I looked out the window. A woman stepped out of the car—tall, composed, confident. Her movements were sure, unhesitating. She wore white, immaculate and effortless, untouched by exhaustion. She didn't look like someone who came to ask permission.
She looked like someone who belonged.
"Who's that?" Lily asked softly.
I didn't answer.
The woman entered the house as if she already knew every corner. As if she wasn't a guest at all.
"Hi," she said, smiling at Kerill. "I'm home."
Home.
The word hit harder than I expected.
Her eyes moved to me—slow, measuring. Not rude. Just deliberate. Like she was deciding how much space I occupied.
"Oh," she said lightly. "So you're her."
"I'm Monica," she continued. "The children's mother."
She didn't need to say more. I already felt it.
"Charlene," I replied.
She smiled, but it never reached her eyes.
"You look… simple."
I didn't know whether to feel offended.
I did anyway.
The children drifted closer, stopping in the middle of the living room. No one ran to her. No one reached out.
"Hi, babies," Monica said warmly. "Did you miss me?"
No one answered.
Lily tightened her grip on my clothes.
"You've gotten close," Monica remarked, her gaze still fixed on me.
I stayed silent.
"Why are you here?" Kerill asked. His voice was flat, cold.
"To see my children," she replied calmly. "Is that a crime?"
No one spoke.
She turned back to me.
"You must be the temporary wife," she said with a faint smile. "That's cute."
Temporary.
"Don't worry," she added. "I won't stay long. I just wanted to remind everyone—especially the kids—that I'm still their mother."
Lily wrapped her arms around my leg. I didn't pull her away. I didn't push her closer. I just stayed still and let her hold on.
"Kids," Kerill said quietly. "Go to your rooms."
They hesitated—but obeyed.
I was left alone with her.
"This isn't a competition," Monica said as she turned away.
If only she knew.
I wasn't competing. I never wanted this place.
When she left, the silence returned—heavier than before. I sat down on the sofa, my legs suddenly weak.
That was when it sank in.
How small I was in this house. In this life.
Temporary.
A word I had known from the very beginning—yet hearing it spoken aloud still hurt.
For the first time, I wasn't sure I could stay.
And what frightened me most of all—
Was the thought that she might be right. That there was no place for me here. That she had been here first— and had returned to reclaim what she believed was hers.