“Eric, you animal!”
My brother went to prison for protecting me. My nephew has suffered years of stigma and humiliation. He looks tough, but inside he’s painfully sensitive and insecure.
Now his own uncle was grinding salt into that wound.
I exploded, struggling up to slap Eric hard across the face.
He froze, then roared, “You shrew! How dare you hit me!”
In the struggle,
my son, Daniel Johnson, slammed his bowl down. “Enough already! Can we eat in peace?”
Only then did I really see it: the fraternal twins I’d risked my life to bring into the world sat calmly at the table eating, start to finish.
While their mother was being beaten by Eric, they didn’t flinch, didn’t even look over—much less step in.
My heart went ice-cold.
Eric seemed to realize he’d gone too far. He scrambled off me, guilt on his face, and reached to help me up.
I slapped his hand away.
My nephew rushed over, tears streaming, and helped me to my feet.
“Sophia…”
Eric looked like he regretted it, stepping toward me as if to speak.
I turned away, stone-faced, and went into the bedroom.
I soon came out with a document and handed it to Eric. “Sign it. We’re getting a divorce.”
Eric stared.
At the divorce papers, he scoffed, “You want to divorce me? All these years, I’ve carried this family. You’re just a freeloader I keep at home. Call it what you want—at best you’re the lady of the house, at worst you’re a glorified nanny…”
“Yes. Divorce. I’ll leave with nothing.”
Eric’s treatment of me had only worsened over the years. I’d been living under constant cold violence. I’d wrestled with the idea of leaving for a long time. Today, I finally decided.
His expression shifted.
Whatever he’d planned to say to keep me in line died on his lips.
He hadn’t expected me to want nothing—to walk away with nothing.
For a moment, he went blank, speechless.
“What, you’re not taking the kids either? If we divorce, you won’t take a single one. You can’t even support yourself, let alone give them a decent life.”
I glanced at the twins who’d kept their heads down at dinner, as if none of this involved them. Then I gave a small, relieved smile.
“I’m not taking them. Not one.”
The laugh that came out of me was bitter.
Three months ago, after too many predawn mornings and late nights, my blood sugar crashed while I was cleaning and I fainted.
It was just me and the kids at home.