“Don’t go to that show,” he said without turning back. “You’ll only embarrass yourself. I told you to pack for our things, right? Is it ready now? Do it! Make sure that we will not forget anything.”
He left.
And I just stood there. No more tears. Just this strange, burning quiet in my chest. Not sadness, not heartbreak—just hatred. For the way I let myself become so small. For the way they never even had to raise their voices to crush me. For the way I spent twenty years handing out pieces of myself until there was nothing left but duties and silence.
I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around our bedroom—our curated little cage. The walls I had decorated. The sheets I washed. The photo frames that no longer held memories, just proof that I had once existed beside him.
I should’ve done this sooner.
I should’ve loved myself sooner.
But for twenty years, I chose to love a man who didn’t see me. I chose to serve a family that never said thank you. I chose quiet over conflict, sacrifice over self.
And what did it get me? Nothing.
I stood up.
I pulled out the dress I had planned to wear for the fashion show—the one Kier said was “too loud” for someone like me. I wore it proudly. Fixed my hair the way I liked it. Put on the lipstick he once said made me look “too old to matter.”
And then I left the house. They wouldn’t notice anyway.
I hailed a cab and gave the address to the gallery to finally do the photoshoot.
The assistant greeted me. “We’re ready for you,” she said, leading me into the sunlit studio. “You’ll look beautiful.”
I stepped in front of the camera.
The photographer adjusted the lens. “Are you sure you want these to look like bridal portraits… and you’ll be alone?”
I nodded. “Yes. I don’t have a husband.”
He nodded and then started taking photos. With every shot, I felt lighter. As if I were slowly peeling off the layers of someone else’s expectations.
I remembered Kier’s words from long ago—the ones that once made me stay.
“Erika, I know Camille is a star, but she’ll never want someone like me. She wants her career. You? You’ll stay. You’ll care. You’ll be my peace.”
He said he would give me the best life in return.
He gave me a kitchen. He gave Camille everything else.
I stood beneath the soft lights and smiled at the camera. Not a forced smile, not the kind I wore when guests came over or when Camille handed me a gift “just because.”
This smile was mine.