Chapter 1



Six years married, and I was the third wheel in my own house.

My husband tangled with his ex—"just friends," he insisted.

My gifts? Trash. Hers? Treasures.

Even my own daughter, Mila, said: "I wish Auntie Chloe was my mom!"

At first, I lost it. Cried. Screamed.

But then I figured it out—his ex babysat for free and kept my husband happy. Perfect.

So when Asher ditched our anniversary AGAIN to fly overseas for his ex's birthday?

I went straight to Iceland.

One month later, I finally came home. Mila tore through my luggage.

"Hey, did you get me and Dad gifts?"

"Yup!"

I smiled. Tossed her airport peanut butter cookies.

She snapped.

"I'm allergic to peanuts! Even Auntie Chloe knows that. You seriously forgot?"

I didn't blink.

"Oh. Yeah. No gift then."

Invisible wife and mom game? I'm DONE.

...

I ignored Mila's tears. Dragged my suitcase to the walk-in closet.

A few minutes later, sobbing echoed from downstairs.

For once, I didn't care.

Ten minutes passed. The crying got closer.

Right before Mila reached the closet, I slammed the door shut.

The housekeeper texted me photos and voice messages—Mila was buried under her blanket, crying her eyes out.

I stared at the photos for a few seconds.

Then forwarded them to Asher, who was in his study working.

"Your daughter's crying. Go deal with it."

He quickly replied with a question mark.

When I got back to the bedroom, Mila's crying was getting louder.

I didn't rush to comfort her like before.

Instead, I walked into the bathroom to remove my makeup.

When I came out, the crying had died down.

I sank into the massage chair, put on my headphones, and started binge-watching a new series.

If Mila loved crying so much, let her cry.

She'd said it herself—when she cried, she only wanted Auntie Chloe to comfort her.

Why should I keep forcing myself into the picture?

When Asher finally rushed in from his study, Mila's face was flushed red, tears and snot everywhere.

He frowned, scooped up his sniffling daughter, and started soothing her.

After the nanny took Mila from him, he finally turned to me, keeping his voice calm.

"Mila cried like that right in front of you. Nothing to say?"

I held up a compact mirror, adjusting my sheet mask.

"Mm... just got back from traveling. My skin's super dry. Gonna order sheet masks on Amazon."

Asher took a breath, speaking patiently for once.

"If this is about the anniversary, I'm sorry."

"It's dangerous overseas. Chloe was alone on a business trip. I thought she'd feel better with company on her birthday."

"Aria, let's just call it an accident, okay?"

"You never used to care about these things. Why now?"

I didn't care before because I never imagined Mila would gang up on me with an outsider.

Reality slapped me hard in the face.

When I tried correcting Mila's behavior, she clutched a photo of herself and Chloe and screamed at me.

"I wish Auntie Chloe was my mom!"

"She'd never make me feel bad!"

"You're a terrible mother! I don't want you as my mom!"

I peeled off my face mask and held up a Polaroid in front of him.

Guilt flashed across Asher's face.

He and Mila were beaming in that photo.

Probably because Chloe was standing next to them. Not me.

Below the photo, Mila's messy handwriting marked the date.

10.08

When I found this photo on Mila's nightstand, I stared at that date for a long time.

That was my birthday.

I'd spent the whole day at home making Mila's favorite ice cream cake and cooking a full dinner.

I even texted him to bring Mila home early.

He never replied.

When the housekeeper returned, she said Mila begged to go to Asher's office right after school.

The next day, Asher finally texted.

"Last-minute business trip."

"Mila wanted to come along, so the housekeeper picked her up after school. Don't worry."

"Oh, and happy birthday."

Attached: a screenshot of a $520,000 transfer.

I pulled up another screenshot on my phone—Chloe's Instagram post.

[No matter how busy he is, one text saying I'm not feeling well and he books a flight to New Zealand.]

The photo showed Asher's hand—wedding ring off—pressed against her forehead, checking her temperature.

Date: October 8th.

Six years.

My birthday. Our anniversary two months later. Every important day.

They spent them all with Chloe.

I was the outsider watching them play happy family.

During that month in Iceland, neither of them sent a single message. Not one call asking how I was.

I stood there under the aurora, praying with all my heart.

Was this marriage worth holding on to?

The wind cleared the clouds from the peak.

I finally had my answer.

I looked at Asher.

"If the anniversary was an accident, then how do you explain my birthday?"

His lips parted, then closed.

In the end, he never gave me an explanation or apology.

He sighed and went with his usual move.

"Here's your sixth-anniversary gift."

Another gift as a cop-out.

But this time, even the packaging looked cheap as hell.

A wrinkled plastic dust bag wrapped around a strand of decent Australian pearls.

Still nowhere near the massive ruby necklace he gave Chloe for her birthday—the one she flaunted all over Instagram.

Chapter 2



I used to post every gift Asher gave me on Instagram.

But every single time, reality slapped me in the face.

The things he gave Chloe were always better. More expensive. More thoughtful.

I once asked him why.

He simply said, "Chloe and I were together for ten years."

"Old habits—looking after her—die hard, Aria."

"I told you this before we got married."

Right. My bland six-year marriage couldn't compete with their epic decade.

I took the pearl necklace and tossed it aside.

"Thanks."

Asher stood there, frozen.

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

"Before we got married, didn't you say we'd exchange anniversary gifts every year?"

"Where's mine?"

Every year, the gifts I carefully picked got trashed by him and Mila.

First year, Asher said, "The scarf you knitted doesn't match my suits. Maybe get me something else next time."

Later, I watched Chloe wrap a pink scarf around his neck—just as mismatched with his gray suit, yet Asher smiled and never took it off.

Second year, after Mila was born, Asher said, "This keychain's outdated. Doesn't match my car either. Can't use it."

I looked at his everyday keychain—a solid gold plate dangled from it, engraved with their initials.

They'd made them together when they were dating. Matching set.

Third year, Mila was starting to talk. Asher complained again.

"This suit fabric feels weird. It's scratchy. I'm not used to it."

That same year, Chloe gave him custom cufflinks.

He treasured them. Changed suits constantly, but always wore those cufflinks.

Fourth year, Mila mimicked his tone, batting her big eyes.

"Aria, this wallet you got Daddy is so ugly!"

"Not as cute as the clay figures Auntie Chloe and I made together!"

She held up an acrylic box next to the wallet I'd given Asher.

Inside were three little clay figures holding hands, representing the three of them.

For six years, no matter what gift I prepared, they found something wrong with it.

So this year? I didn't bother.

I pulled out the peanut butter cookies Mila had rejected and held it out to him.

My hand hung in the air. Asher didn't take it.

He almost laughed in disbelief.

"Aria, a ten-dollar bag of cookies? That's my gift?"

"Yup."

"You think that's the same as what I gave you?"

I looked up at him, confused about what he was nitpicking now.

"What's different? Pearls and cookies both come from a store."

"Babe, aren't you being a little sensitive?"

"If you don't want it, whatever. I'll eat it myself later."

Long silence.

Then Asher finally took the bag of cookies.

I didn't expect that.

He'd actually accepted something even Mila wouldn't touch it.

Before returning to his study to work, Asher clutched the cookies bag and turned to me.

"Tomorrow the preschool's having a parent activity. You—"

I fiddled with my split ends, gently declining.

"Tomorrow won't work. I've got plans."

"Meeting Riley to get my hair done."

"Next time, I promise."

For once, patient Asher snapped.

"Aria, you used to care about Mila's stuff. Why are you making excuses now?"

I felt confused.

"I'm not making excuses. I really do have plans tomorrow."

"If I can, I'll try to make it."

My words seemed to choke him. His tone got sMila.

"What plans could you possibly have?"

"You don't work. Just sip tea and arrange flowers all day. The nanny handles Mila."

"You used to complain about being bored, begging the school to hold more events. Now suddenly you're busy?"

I stared into his eyes.

Listened to those cutting words in silence.

Suddenly, I understood why Mila had told the other kids at the last parent event—

"My mom's basically useless. She does nothing all day and lives off Dad's money."

"Only my dad's nice enough to put up with her."

"Anyone else would've gotten me a new mom by now."

Asher forgot.

Before marrying him, I was the top-rated news anchor at Seattle's biggest TV station.

If not for our teenage crush, I'd still be standing under those spotlights.

Realizing what he'd said, Asher squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head.

"Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine."

I answered fast.

"But I really am busy tomorrow."

"If you're free, you should go to the parent thing. The school doesn't require both parents anyway."

I didn't wait for his response. Got up and went to wash my face.

When I came out, Asher had gone back to his study.

I lay in bed for hours, wide awake.

Rolling over, my eyes drifted to the glass cabinet by my vanity.

The trophies and awards inside were covered in dust.

But I could still remember standing under those lights, holding up those awards, feeling seen.

My best friend, Riley, was right.

My life shouldn't revolve around family and kids.

Chapter 3



The next morning, I didn't make breakfast like always.

Asher and Mila sat at the table, staring at each other.

The air felt weird.

When the nanny brought out breakfast, Mila slid her scrambled egg onto my plate.

"Aria, I was rude yesterday. Sorry. Mila apologizes."

I wolfed down a few bites of sandwich, stood up, and slid the egg back.

"Have the housekeeper drop you at school. I'm really busy today."

Mila's face turned red.

Finally, she huffed.

"Whatever. I don't even want you to accept my apology anyway. Dad already—"

Asher cut her off sharply.

"Mila. Less talking during breakfast."

I wasn't interested in whatever they'd been plotting. Grabbed my bag and left.

Riley's car was waiting outside.

I wasn't lying—I really was busy today.

On my last day in Iceland, I'd gotten an interview notification from the TV station.

Today, Riley was one of my interviewers.

The second I got in the car, she announced loudly.

"Don't think you're getting special treatment just because I'm interviewing you."

"I'm famously fair and impartial."

Her serious expression made me laugh.

"Come on. There are five other interviewers besides you."

"Even if I wanted to cheat, I couldn't."

Riley poked my shoulder excitedly.

"What changed your mind?"

"Before the wedding, I begged you not to quit. You wouldn't listen."

"Did Asher treat you badly? Not giving you money? You need the job now?"

I sighed and shook my head.

Financially, Asher never shortchanged me.

Money showed up in my account every month like clockwork.

Holiday bonuses and wishes never missed.

But between Asher and me? An invisible wall of ice.

Six years married, and he still treated me like a polite stranger.

I tried breaking through. He stayed distant.

Mila wasn't close to me either.

She rarely called me Mom.

Just "Aria." Or "hey." Or "you."

No amount of money could fill that emptiness.

The interview went surprisingly well.

Even the impromptu hosting segment was my specialty.

Results would take a few days.

I checked the time. The school parent event started in half an hour.

After hesitating, I grabbed a cab to the preschool.

Traffic hit. I was five minutes late.

The security guard stopped me at the gate.

He tapped the sign-in sheet.

"Mila Hayes' parents already arrived. See? Signed and checked in."

He held the sheet up to my face.

Asher Hayes and Chloe Monroe. Side by side.

My brain froze for a second.

Then I laughed.

No wonder Asher cut Mila off so fast this morning.

He'd brought Chloe to play mommy.

I stood in the cold wind for three hours.

Finally, the event ended.

Mila skipped out, holding Chloe's hand.

"Auntie Chloe helped me win so many prizes today! She's amazing!"

"Way better than Aria!"

Asher scolded her gently.

"How many times do I have to tell you? She's your mother. Stop calling her by name."

Mila made a cheeky face.

"I like Auntie Chloe, Daddy."

"Why don't you marry her instead? She knows way more stuff than Aria!"

Chloe pinched Mila's cheek.

"You really think so, sweetie?"

Mila nodded hard.

"Duh! Aria just bosses me around. She's so annoying!"

"I accidentally broke some old necklace once and she ignored me for days."

"Auntie Chloe's way nicer. She always takes my side!"

That necklace was the only thing my mother left me.

That day, before I could even say anything, Mila burst into tears first.

That fight—the first real one Asher and I had in six years—started because of it.

I could still see the disgust on his face.

"No wonder Mila doesn't like you."

"She says Chloe's better at everything. Guess she's right."

The three of them chatted like a perfect little family.

Nobody even noticed me standing there.

They walked to that Korean BBQ place they used to go to in college.

The server greeted them warmly.

"Our regulars are back! The usual spicy sauce?"

Chloe, holding Mila's hand, shook her head.

"We've got a kid today. Let's do mild and spicy."

Asher had a sensitive stomach—couldn't handle spice.

I loved spicy food—couldn't eat without it.

For six years, I'd cooked without adding any heat. For him.

And now he sat there eating spicy BBQ with Chloe, gasping and panting, looking ridiculous—but loving every second.

The cold wind turned all my disappointment into dead weight.

I pushed open the restaurant door and walked straight to their table.

Father and daughter looked so alike. Even their guilty expressions matched.

I smiled gently at Chloe, who looked startled.

"Relax. I'm not here to cause a scene."

I pulled the divorce papers from my bag—the ones my lawyer drafted in Iceland—and set them in front of him.

"Asher Hayes."

"Let's get divorced."

Asher, always so composed, saw it and knocked over Mila's drink.