Chapter 1

Ethan and Lucas finally returned home and offered a token performance of the birthday song.

But instead of being moved to tears as I usually was, I felt a wave of visceral nausea rise within me. I pushed the plate away. "I'm not hungry. You two eat."

Ethan's expression instantly darkened, as if I had committed some unforgivable sin.

"I know you're sulking about the Hannah situation. But can't you be a little considerate of her position? She just got divorced; her mental state is fragile. Lucas and I only went over to help fix up her house, just to cheer her up. That's all. Stop being so paranoid."

Lucas chimed in, his mouth stuffed with pizza. "Yeah, Mom. Auntie Hannah is all alone. Can't you have a little compassion?"

Watching this father and son duo stand on the moral high ground to condemn me, my heart felt colder than the blizzard raging outside the window.

It was my birthday, yet they had abandoned me in this empty house to provide free labor for a woman who certainly didn't lack money.

Every time I expressed dissatisfaction, they would roll out the same excuses: "She's pitiful," "We're just friends." It always made me feel like a narrow-minded, hysterical shrew.

In the past, I would always compromise. I would reflect on whether I was being too sensitive.

But this time, I was tired.

"You're right," I said, standing up calmly. "You really should go help her. In that case, I'm going to go find my friends to celebrate."

With that, I picked up my coat and clutch and walked straight toward the foyer.

The father and son froze at the dining table, clearly not expecting such a reaction from the doormat of a housewife who usually took everything lying down.

When Ethan finally realized I was serious, he rushed over and grabbed my wrist.

"Sarah, you're over forty years old. Can you stop acting like a petulant teenager? Do you have any idea how much pressure I'm under running the firm? How heavy Lucas's schoolwork is? We still carved out time to come back and cut the cake for you. Isn't that enough?"

Pressure?

I stared at them coldly. When they were designing that complex climate control system for Hannah, why didn't I hear them complain about pressure? When they pulled all-nighters drawing blueprints for her, why weren't they tired then?

But when it came to me? A discount rug bought haphazardly by the roadside was supposed to be a divine blessing?

"You're overthinking it," my voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm not angry. I just want a change of scenery and a real martini. It's been a long time since I've had any time to myself."

"You are simply impossible!" Ethan let go of my hand, roaring in anger. "You've been emotionally blackmailing us all this time—isn't that enough? Are you not satisfied until you've torn this family apart?"

Watching him scream hysterically in the hallway, even kicking my rainboots across the floor, I felt absolutely nothing.

All these years, I had given up my career for this family. Yet now, on my forty-second birthday, simply because I wanted a shred of reciprocal respect, I was branded a "control freak."

I really had failed spectacularly.

I let out a self-deprecating laugh, my eyes stinging. Ethan turned to look at me, his gaze cold as iron.

"Look at yourself. Since you're so unhappy, let's just get a divorce!"

This was his trump card. In the past, whenever I heard those words, fear of losing my family would make me apologize immediately.

But this time, I didn't care.

"Alright," I whispered.

As the door clicked shut, the last thing I saw was the look of shock and disbelief on their faces.