On the very night Finn Chapman's first love got divorced, he threw the ninety-ninth divorce agreement at me.

Lisa's heart is broken. She can't move on. I have to take care of her, he said.

Even our seven-year-old son tried to persuade me.

You should just agree to the divorce and leave, he told me. Let Lisa move in. We don't need a maid like you anymore.

Both father and son were certain I'd scream, cry, beg them not to throw me out.

But I didn't. I simply nodded, quietly signed my name on the divorce papers, and left.

Ten years later, my son became the top scorer on the SATs. During an interview, a reporter asked him, What has motivated you to study so hard all these years?

He went silent for a moment. Then, in front of everyone, his eyes turned red.

Because I wanted to tell my mom, he said, voice trembling, I've grown up now. Will you come back? Please don't leave me again.
Chapter 1
[Ms. Carmine, this divorce agreement is valid. Once you sign it, your marriage will be automatically dissolved in a month.]
Looking at the confirmation, I exhaled in relief and turned toward the torn-open package on the floor.
It was a birthday gift from my seven-year-old son for my twenty-seventh birthdaya box filled with used condoms and a photograph of a happy family of three.
In the photo, Finn Chapman was holding a woman tightly, his face softened with a tenderness I had never seen before.
Our mischievous son rested obediently against the woman's chest, his expression full of adoration.
But the woman in the picture wasn't me. It was Finn's first lovethe one who had just divorced and returned to the country.
Even the condoms weren't the kind I used. They were the cheese-scented ones Lisa adored.
Today was my twenty-eighth birthday. Early in the morning, Finn lost his temper because I'd stepped into the living room with my left foot first. He stormed off with our son, saying I should stay home and reflect on myself.
I knew that was just an excuse. He simply didn't want to celebrate my birthday.
Scenes like this had played out countless times since Lisa came back.
Like the time her house lost power and he insisted on keeping her companyhis reason being that my cooking was terrible, and he had no choice but to take our son out for dinner.
He'd completely forgotten that I held a chef's license, that I'd learned to cook light meals because his stomach couldn't handle the heavy food from all his business banquets.
...
At night, I set the table and cooked several dishes. But they never came back.
By the time the candles on the cake had burned out and the food had gone cold, I finally heard the sound of the front door unlocking.
Our son burst in, excitedly tugging at Finn's hand, chattering about how thrilling the roller coaster had been that day.
Finn smiled faintly. There was a half-faded pink lipstick mark on his shirt collarthe color everyone was calling the most irresistible shade of the year.
The moment they saw me, the smiles on both their faces vanished.
Finn walked in, still holding our son's hand, pulled a small gift box from his pocket, and tossed it onto the table.
Your birthday present, he said flatly.
I glanced at it. I didn't need to open it to know it was a bracelet. The same brand, the same style.
In eight years of marriage, I'd received the same bracelet seventeen timesa quiet reminder, again and again, of how little I meant to him.
Meanwhile, Lisa's social media was full of gifts that never repeated. A new couture gown today, an antique vase from an auction tomorrow, and the day after that something else entirely.
My gaze dimmed. I rose from my seat and walked away.
For a brief moment, shock flickered in Finn's eyesthen anger.
Heather, I give you a gift out of kindness, and this is how you treat my sincerity?
He sneered. No wonder Mom says you're unpresentable. You really have no manners.
I stopped in my tracks. And before I could stop myself, I laughed.
Chapter 2
That was what Finn's father had said about me on our wedding day.
Back then, Finn was young and impulsive. The moment he heard his father's words, he slammed down the microphone.
She's my wife, he said. No one has the right to speak ill of her.
Father and soncut from the same cloth after all.
Our son threw a toy at me.
You bad woman! Apologize to Daddy right now!
The sharp edge of the toy split the skin on my cheek. I touched the wound instinctively. I could feel my heart break a little more.
This was the child I'd carried for nine months and brought into the worlda little wolf cub that could never be tamed.
Eight years of love, undone by one year of Lisa's sweet talk.
When I didn't respond, my son's smirk deepened.
Not even mad? Figures. You're just a useless leech of a woman. You should smarten up and divorce my dad already. We don't need a maid like you here.
With that, he bounced away toward his room.
Before closing the door, he stood on his tiptoes to hang up a little sign: [Heather is not allowed inside.]
I wiped away the tears that had come with my laughter and went back to my roomthe small storage space next to the kitchen.
It was less than ten square meters, with a narrow, plain bed.
Even the housekeeper refused to stay there, but for the past year, it had been the only place in this house where I could breathe.
I put away the seventeenth bracelet he'd given me, then opened the drawer and took out the divorce papersthe ninety-ninth divorce agreement Finn had thrown at me.
In eight years of marriage, every argument ended with him tossing me another one.
He knew I was starved for love, knew I couldn't let goand he used those papers, again and again, to humiliate me.
But this time, I was really going to sign.
My husband. My son. This ridiculous marriage. I didn't want any of it anymore

The next morning, I was woken by pounding on the door.
Get up! Make me breakfast!
My son's toy slammed against the door of the storage room, the sound echoing through the house.
I used to wake up at five every morning to make breakfast for him and his father. Now, lying in bed, I wished I could just go deaf.
When I finally opened the door, he was standing barefoot on the cold floor, his face twisted with anger.
Where's my breakfast?
I looked him in the eyes, my voice flat.
In the fridge. Get it yourselfor ask your father or Lisa.
He froze. It was the first time I'd ever spoken to him that way. Then his face contorted again, as if remembering something.
You're my maid! If you don't listen, I'll tell Dad to divorce you!
He stamped his foot. Go make breakfast now! Or I'll walk barefoot all day. When I get sick, you'll have to stay up all night taking care of me again!
That was when I noticed his bare feet on the floor.
He'd been born premature, always prone to illness. Every time I saw him barefoot, I used to panicrushing after him, pleading softly for him to wear shoes.
He'd wait until I bent down to help him, then stomp hard on my clothes, leaving dirty footprints all over meand only then would he laugh and let me finish dressing him.
The memory stung. I turned my gaze away, walked past him, and went to wash up.