Hurt me. Humiliate me. Then hand me a credit card like it was a balm for the wounds they never acknowledged. As if the ability to shop would erase the fact that I was unwanted. Unloved. Undervalued.

But not this time.

I looked around the quiet house—empty now, like a ghost town echoing with memories that didn’t serve me anymore. Today, I was finished being their shadow.

I walked slowly to the living room, retrieved the envelope I had tucked beneath the couch cushion the night before, and placed it neatly on the coffee table.

Inside were the divorce papers, and also our wedding ring.

I stood for a long moment in the doorway. One last glance. Not for nostalgia. Just confirmation.

I wasn’t coming back.

At the airport, I sat near Gate 18, sipping quietly on a paper cup of coffee, staring at the glowing screen of my phone. I let myself smile. My life was beginning—at the exact moment they thought they had erased me.

I was mid-scroll through a rooftop restaurant review when a familiar voice sliced through the air.

“Shit. My passport—where is it?”

Camille.

I froze. They were across the terminal, laughing, wheeling their designer luggage, wrapped in joy. My father, David, adjusting his tie. My son’s wife snapping a picture of the group. And Camille—rummaging through her purse, visibly agitated.

I doubt if they would even notice me as they’re busy on their own lives.

Kier rubbed his forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Didn’t Erika pack it for you?”

Camille blinked. “No, I… I asked her, but I don’t know if she—”

“Damn that useless bitch. I told her to check everything,” Kier muttered, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call her. She can drop it off. It’s not like she’s busy.”

Of course.

Even now. Even after everything—they still expected me to fix their mess.

My phone rang.

Kier.

Then a message.

Kier: Camille left her passport. Can you bring it to Terminal 2? We’re at Gate 7. ASAP.

I stared at the screen. The same screen I had waited years to see his name on. Hoping he’d text I love you. That he was proud of me. That he saw me.

But now… now all I saw was proof. Proof that even when I was no longer theirs, they still expected me to serve.

I slowly typed my response.

Erika: I don’t want to do it. I’m done being your nanny, Kier. Goodbye.

Then I turned off my phone. I stood, lifted my suitcase, and walked toward Gate 18.