Maya stood in the dimly lit bedroom she had shared with Mark for three years, her hands trembling as they clutched the divorce papers. The silence around her was deafening, filled only with the echo of memories she wished she could erase.
It was over.
The reality of those words settled heavily on her chest. No more waking up to Mark's cold indifference. No more waiting endlessly for him to come home. No more pretending that their marriage still had hope.
She had lost.
Not just her husband, but the life she had built around him.
Her fingers curled around the papers, her vision blurring. She wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers—Why wasn't I enough? Why did he choose Sarah over me?
A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence.
Before she could respond, it swung open, and Evelyn Thompson, her mother-in-law, stepped inside. The older woman's sharp eyes swept over Maya with barely concealed disdain.
"So, you're still here?" Evelyn sneered, crossing her arms. "How shameless."
Maya stiffened but forced herself to stay calm. "I was just packing."
Evelyn scoffed. "Good. Mark was too soft, letting you stay this long." She took a step closer, her voice dripping with venom. "You should have left the moment you failed to give him a child. Do you know how embarrassing it was for our family to have a barren daughter-in-law?"
Maya's nails dug into her palms, but she refused to let Evelyn see her pain.
She had endured years of insults, years of being treated like an outsider in her own home. But tonight, she wouldn't lower her head.
"I was never barren," Maya said, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest.
Evelyn frowned. "What?"
"I was cured," she whispered, gripping the papers tighter. "I was finally able to conceive."
For the first time, a flicker of doubt crossed Evelyn's face.
Maya let out a bitter laugh. "But it doesn't matter now, does it? Mark already has his child with Sarah."
Evelyn recovered quickly, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Exactly. That woman is carrying my grandchild—the future heir of the Thompson family. You? You're just a pathetic woman who clung to my son for too long."
Maya exhaled shakily. There was no point in arguing. No point in explaining. They had already erased her from their lives.
"Take your pity elsewhere," Evelyn continued. "And don't you dare show your face here again."
Maya didn't reply. Instead, she turned away, silently continuing to pack her belongings.
Evelyn clicked her tongue in annoyance before storming out. The moment the door slammed shut behind her, Maya's knees gave out. She sank onto the floor, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress.
Breathe, Maya. Just breathe.
She couldn't fall apart now.
With shaky hands, she wiped her tears and stood. This house was no longer her home.
It was time to leave.
---
An hour later, Maya walked down the grand staircase, a single suitcase rolling behind her. Mark was nowhere in sight. Of course, he wouldn't even bother seeing her off.
The only one waiting for her was Mr. Carter, the butler, his expression softening when he saw her. "Miss Maya…"
She offered him a small, broken smile. "Goodbye, Mr. Carter. Take care of yourself."
The older man hesitated before reaching into his pocket, offering her a small bundle of cash. "Please take this. I know Mr. Thompson didn't give you anything."
Maya's throat tightened. Mark had thrown her away without a second thought. He didn't care if she had money, a place to go—nothing.
But she wouldn't take pity.
She gently pushed the money back into Mr. Carter's hands. "Thank you, but I'll be fine."
Before she could lose her resolve, she turned and walked toward the door. Each step away from this house felt like shedding an old skin, leaving behind a life that had never truly been hers.
She wouldn't look back.
Not this time.
---
Maya sat in the back of the taxi, her suitcase nestled between her legs, the city lights flickering past like stars in a dark sky. The rhythmic sound of tires against asphalt provided a strange comfort as she let the reality of her situation wash over her.
She was free.
Yet, the weight of loss pressed heavily on her chest.
The driver, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a kindly face, glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "You okay, miss?" he asked, his voice low and soothing.
Maya forced a smile, though it felt foreign on her lips. "Yeah, just… just a little tired."
He nodded in understanding and turned his attention back to the road.
Maya stared at the passing buildings, their windows glowing with life, laughter, and warmth. She remembered those nights spent in Mark's home, the laughter that once filled the hallways now replaced by silence and betrayal.
She had always believed that love could conquer all, that they would eventually find their way back to each other. But now, as she sat alone in a taxi, she realized she had been fighting a battle he had already lost interest in.
"Where to, miss?" the driver interrupted her thoughts.
Maya blinked, shaking her head as if to clear the fog. "Um, Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "As far away as possible."
The car pulled away from the mansion, the golden lights fading into the distance.
The taxi pulled up to a small, town the outskirts of the city. The neon sign buzzed softly, flickering with a dull glow. Maya took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next step.
For the first time in a long time, she felt a
She was no longer Maya Thompson, the discarded wife.
She was just Maya.
And she would rise again.