The sun was already climbing higher when Darian left for his meeting, his polished black car gliding out of the driveway like a ghost. I watched from the upstairs window, my reflection ghosting over the glass—a woman I barely recognized anymore. Once he was gone, the house felt larger, emptier, as if his presence had filled every corner, even in silence.
I lingered by the window, staring at the vast lawn, perfectly manicured by people I wasn't allowed to know. My son's laughter drifted faintly from the playroom, the only sound that felt alive in this house. He didn't understand the cracks beneath the surface of our family. He was too young.
With a heavy sigh, I turned away and walked toward the playroom. Before I could reach the door, the maid—her name was Clara—appeared at the end of the hall, carrying a tray of cleaning supplies. Her face was blank, her steps careful. She was always so controlled around me, as if afraid of showing too much.
"Good morning, my lady," she said softly, bowing her head.
I wanted to ask her if she enjoyed this—the act of pretending to serve, knowing she held something over me. But instead, I just nodded and brushed past her. The vase from earlier had been cleaned up without a trace. I wasn't proud of what I'd done, but a small, spiteful part of me felt satisfaction at her quiet compliance.
Inside the playroom, my son was building a tower of blocks, his small hands carefully balancing each piece. His bright eyes lit up when he saw me.
"Mommy!" he exclaimed, running over to hug my legs.
I scooped him up, his laughter warming something inside me that I thought had gone cold. "Good morning, sweetheart. What are you building today?"
"A castle!" he said, his face glowing with pride. "Can you help me?"
"Of course," I said, setting him down and kneeling beside the scattered blocks. For a while, I let myself forget everything else. I let his laughter and the simplicity of building something together ease the weight pressing on my chest.
But it didn't last. The sound of my phone vibrating on the table shattered the moment. I glanced at the screen and saw the same classmate's name. My stomach twisted as I debated whether to answer.
"Mommy, who is it?" my son asked innocently.
"Just a friend," I said, forcing a smile. "I'll call them back later."
I silenced the phone and returned my attention to the castle, but my mind was elsewhere. The reunion was a chance to feel like myself again, to remember who I was before Darian's shadow consumed me. But his words echoed in my mind: "You know why you shouldn't go without me."
Could I defy him? Could I risk it?
Later that afternoon, I found myself pacing the kitchen, my fingers tracing patterns on the cold marble countertop. Clara was there, silently washing dishes, her presence a constant reminder of everything I hated about this house. She didn't look at me, but I could feel the tension between us, unspoken but heavy.
"Clara," I said suddenly, my voice sharper than I intended.
She flinched slightly but turned to face me, her expression unreadable. "Yes, my lady?"
I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. What was I even trying to say? To accuse her? To demand answers? But what good would it do? She wasn't the one who made promises she couldn't keep.
"Nothing," I said finally, waving her off. "Just… don't bother me unless it's important."
"Yes, my lady," she said, bowing her head again.
I walked out of the kitchen, my pulse racing. The walls of this house were closing in on me, the weight of secrets and lies pressing down. For the first time in years, I felt something stir inside me—something I thought I'd lost. Anger. Determination. Maybe even rebellion.
That evening, as I tucked my son into bed, I found myself staring out the window again, this time at the darkened skyline. The city was alive out there, filled with people who weren't trapped like me. The reunion was a lifeline, a chance to remember the version of me who existed before Darian's control.
But it wasn't just about the reunion anymore. It was about taking back a piece of myself, no matter how small.
I kissed my son goodnight and whispered, "Mommy loves you," before slipping out of his room. Tomorrow, I will make my choice. And for the first time, it wouldn't be Darian's to make for me.