The divorce papers had just been laid on the table. Before the sting of betrayal could even register, my ex-husband coldly pulled out his smartphone. He was utterly convinced my father was bankrupt. He called my dad, enunciating each word with force.
“Mr. Prescott, you need to come pick up your troublesome daughter. If she’s still here in an hour, don’t blame me for what happens.”
I didn’t cry in that moment. I just stared silently at the clock, knowing that it wasn’t I who was about to be kicked out of this house, but his entire arrogant family. And I knew that the masterpiece my father had been meticulously crafting for so long was about to reach its grand finale.
5 years ago, I, Sophia Prescott, had a lavish wedding, the envy of everyone, with Ethan Miller. I was the only daughter of Richard Prescott, the CEO of the renowned real estate development firm, The Prescott Group. He was just a sales director at a mid-tier construction company. Despite the vast chasm between our family statuses, I loved him with a pure guless heart.
On our wedding day, the greatest gift my parents gave us was this splendid multi-million dollar penthouse on Park Avenue.
“This,” my father said, “is your foundation, a home for you both to build your life upon.”
The deed was put in both our names, a tangible confirmation of the happiness we were meant to share.
For the next few years, my life was a dream. Ethan was the perfect husband. I adored him, and he constantly surprised me with romantic gestures. He was also ambitious, climbing the corporate ladder quickly.
My mother-in-law, Carol Miller, was initially suspicious of me, thinking a magnate’s daughter wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping a house. However, seeing her son receive so much support from my family, she began to treat me warmly.
I considered myself the happiest woman in the world. I was content with my life as a homemaker, a pillar of support so my husband could focus on his career. I believed this happiness would last forever.
But the storm was coming, a massive storm that would strip away all false pretenses.
It was a few months ago on a weekend evening as the family was having a cheerful dinner that I received a call from my father. I answered happily.
“Hey, Dad. We’re just having dinner.”
But what I heard wasn’t his usual warm, energetic voice, but one that was weary, and filled with despair.
“Sophia, listen to me carefully. You need to stay calm.”
My heart sank.
“Dad, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
I heard a deep sigh on the other end.
“the company. Dad’s company is bankrupt. Chapter 11.”
Bankrupt.
My ears were ringing. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could the Prescuit Group, a leader in the industry, go bankrupt?
“Dad, you’re kidding, right?” I stammered.
“It’s not a joke, honey.” My father’s voice sounded on the verge of tears. “I trusted the wrong people, poured everything into a ghost project, and lost it all. The banks are breathing down my neck. I think I’ll have to give up the house, the properties, everything to pay off the debts. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t do anything for you anymore.”
The smartphone slipped from my hand. Everything around me seemed to spin and crumble.
Ethan and my mother-in-law looked at me bewildered.
“Sophia, what’s wrong? What did your father say?” Ethan asked with concern.
I couldn’t answer. A lump formed in my throat. I could only shake my head as tears streamed down my face.
Ethan quickly picked the phone up from the floor. The call was still connected. He put it to his ear and I watched his expression shift from concern to shock, then to horror. In a dead silence, he listened to the entire situation from my father.
When the call ended, he placed the phone on the table. He didn’t come over to comfort me. He just sat there, stiff as a statue. The way he looked at me was completely alien, a look I had never seen before. It no longer held love or affection, but a cold distance and ruthless calculation.
Carol asked nervously, “Ethan, what is it? Is your father-in-law okay?”
Ethan glanced at his mother, then at me, and finally spoke. His voice was dry without a shred of emotion.
“Sophia’s family is ruined, “Mom, my mother-in-law looked shocked for a moment, but quickly composed herself.”
“Well, you all need to be strong and support your father.”
Those words gave me a sliver of comfort.
That night’s dinner ended in silence. I cried all night, sick with worry for my parents and anxious about our future. But amidst the pain, I held on to one certainty. Ethan, my husband, would stand by me. We would overcome this together.
But I was wrong.
I had no idea that the news of my family’s bankruptcy was not just a tragedy for my husband and mother-in-law. It was a test, a test that would reveal their true colors. And it was also the beginning of a cunning conspiracy to seize the very last thing I had left, this penthouse.
The next morning, when I woke up with swollen eyes, the first harsh reality hit me. The change began to spread as clearly as an oil slick.
The first to show her new attitude was my mother-in-law, Carol. Her former kindness and politeness were gone. The smile on her lips was replaced by a perpetual scowl and an expression of disgust.
At breakfast, I was too heartbroken to eat, only managing a few bites of toast, she remarked sarcastically.
“Well, well, looks like Miss Prescott has gotten picky with her food lately. Don’t like what this house has to offer anymore?”
“Of course you’re used to fivestar meals. Now that your parents are broke and you have no one to lean on. I guess life has lost its flavor.”
I was frozen. Every word was a dagger twisting in my wound.
Ethan muttered under his breath. “Mom, what are you saying?”
“Have I said anything untrue?” Carol snapped at her son. “I’m just speaking the truth. You used to go on and on about your father-in-law this, your father-in-law that. Now that he’s a bankrupt old man, let’s see if you can still show off.”
Then pursing her lips at me, she said, “Let me tell you something. This isn’t a house you can just freeload in. Your husband works hard enough to support this family, and now it looks like he’ll have to carry the weight of your family, too. From now on, you better start acting like you belong. Stop wasting money on designer clothes. You’d better get used to being the daughter-in-law of a regular family.”
I was stunned. Just the day before, she had praised my taste in fashion. Now I was a burden. The daughter-in-law of a regular family.
Unable to stand the tense atmosphere, Ethan stood up abruptly.
“I’m leaving for work.”
He didn’t say a single word to defend me. Not one word of comfort. He simply chose to flee, leaving me alone to face his mother’s cruelty.
From that day on, my life in that house became a living hell.
I was no longer Sophia or Honey. I was treated like a maid. Carol started ordering me to do all sorts of chores.
“Sophia, clean the living room. It’s so filthy I can’t even look at it.”
“Sophia, my laundry has been in the washing machine since this morning. Haven’t you hung it up yet?”
“Why is this soup so salty? Are you trying to kill me?”
All the work previously done by the housekeeper was now my responsibility.
I tried to talk to Ethan that night. I waited for him in the living room.
“Ethan, we need to talk.”
He was clearly trying to avoid me. “I’m really tired. Whatever it is, can we talk tomorrow?”
“No, it has to be now,” I said firmly. “Look at your mother’s attitude lately. Don’t you care how she’s treating me?”
Ethan sighed heavily.
“You know my mom’s personality. She’s probably just worried about me. Worried that I’m struggling. Besides, with what happened to your family, it’s understandable she’s on edge. Just have a little patience. You’re her daughter-in-law. Is it that hard to humor her a bit?”
Patience?
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“You want me to endure these insults? I’m your wife, not the maid in this house.”
“Enough,” Ethan shouted. Maybe from the stress of work or because he felt cornered. “Please don’t make things worse. I have enough problems already. What do you want me to do? Fight with my own mother and tear this family apart? If you won’t think about me, at least think about our home.”
With that, he stormed out again, leaving me choking on a mixture of anger and sorrow.
I realized it then. He would never take my side. Between his mother and me, he had chosen his mother, or more accurately, he had chosen himself and his own comfort.
The days passed in a haze of humiliation and loneliness. The worry for my parents and the cold treatment from my in-laws were eating away at me. I grew noticeably thinner, and my face was perpetually grim.
I thought about divorce, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I still loved him, and I clung to the faint hope that this was just a temporary hardship, that when this all passed, he would go back to being the husband I loved.
But I didn’t know that, while I was clinging to patience and false hope, my husband and mother-in-law were plotting something far more cruel, a plan to snatch away my last and greatest asset.
About a week after my family’s catastrophe, one evening after another tense dinner, Ethan suddenly called me into his study. His demeanor was strange that day. Instead of his usual coldness and disdain, he was surprisingly gentle and considerate.
“Sophia, come sit here,” he said, patting the chair beside him.
A little startled, I sat down cautiously. He poured me a glass of water and took my hand.
“I know how hard it’s been for you lately. I’m sorry. I was a fool for not comforting you, but don’t worry. I’ve been thinking a lot, and no matter how difficult things get, I will never abandon you or your family.”
After so much coldness, his sweet words softened my wounded heart without me realizing it. The flame of hope flickered back to life.
“Maybe he really had seen the error of his ways,” I thought.
“Look,” he continued in a sincere voice, “for the past few days, I’ve been meeting with partners and friends to find a way to help your father. But the debt is so large that a little help from my friends wouldn’t be enough.”
He sighed deeply, his face etched with concern.
“But I’ve thought of a solution. It might be a bit risky, but right now it’s the only way for your father to get back on his feet.”
“What solution?” I asked eagerly, filled with hope.
Ethan looked at me with eyes full of love.
“Our home, this penthouse, it’s in both our names. I’ve been looking into it, and with the equity in this property, we can secure a very large home equity loan from the bank. We could get several million dollars. With that capital, your father could start over. He could rebuild his business.”
I froze.
Mortgaging this house. It was our biggest asset, our home.
As if reading my hesitation, Ethan squeezed my hand tighter.
“I know what you’re worried about. I know this was a wedding gift from your father, but think about the situation we’re in. Your father is in dire straits. How can we as his children just stand by and watch? Money can be lost and earned again, but family is priceless.”
His words were noble and righteous. He targeted my weakest point, my filial love and devotion to my parents.
“Don’t worry,” he continued, reassuring me. “I’ve done all the calculations. We’ll only take out a partial loan, just enough to give your father the capital he needs. With his ability and experience, he’ll be able to pay back the principle and interest to the bank in a year or two. Our home will be safe. I’m doing this because I want to help you, because I want to ease your burden.”
He looked at me with such sincerity, the look of a husband willing to give everything for his wife’s family. I, desperate with worry for my father, was completely won over. I believed him. I thought he had finally come to his senses and returned to being the husband I loved.
“So, what do I need to do?” I asked.
“I’ve already prepared all the paperwork,” Ethan said with a joyful expression. “Since you’re a co-owner, the bank needs signatures from both of us. You’ll also need to sign a power of attorney so I can handle all the banking procedures. Tomorrow, you just need to take a moment to sign right here.”
He pulled a thick stack of documents from his briefcase and placed it on the desk.
With the thick pile of documents Ethan handed me in my hands, my mind was a whirlwind. On one hand, I was incredibly moved and grateful. When my family was on the brink of collapse, when I felt most alone and helpless, he wasn’t a bystander, but a husband, a pillar willing to weather the storm with me.
His gesture seemed to erase all the bitterness and humiliation I had endured from him and his mother over the past month.
Maybe I had misjudged him, I thought. Maybe he had his own struggles pressured by his mother, but deep down he was still the man who loved me, a responsible husband. His recent coldness was probably just due to the immense shock and worry.
“What’s wrong? Haven’t you signed yet?”
Ethan’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He looked at me with a flicker of impatience, but quickly concealed it with a warm smile.
“Is there something you’re worried about? Just trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Oh, no. It’s not that,” I said, feeling guilty for ever doubting him. “It’s just there are so many papers. I don’t understand much about these procedures.”
I started flipping through the pages. They were filled with dense legal jargon and numbers, loan applications, repayment plans, mortgage agreements, power of attorney documents. Everything looked very reasonable, just as he had explained.
I tried to read more closely, but my mind was a chaotic mix of worry for my parents and gratitude for my husband’s gesture. I couldn’t focus.
“You don’t need to read through all of it so meticulously,” Ethan said in a tone that seemed urgent. “These are all standard bank forms. They can’t be changed. You just need to sign where I’ve marked. I have to submit them first thing in the morning. The appraiser is coming this afternoon. We need to move quickly so your father can get the money.”
He brought my father into it again. His haste in my eyes became a zeal to help his in-laws. He was rushing because he wanted to help my father as soon as possible.
With that thought, the last shred of doubt in my mind vanished.
I felt selfish and petty for questioning my husband’s sincerity in this situation.
“Yes, okay, I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely apologetic.
I took the pen. He had carefully marked the signature lines with yellow sticky notes. I no longer read the text carefully. I just flipped to the marked pages and signed my name. My signature was clear and firm.
I signed, placing all my faith and hope in this man.
I had no idea.
Among those innocuous papers hidden away was one fatal sheet waiting for my signature. I didn’t see it. I signed my name to it, a signature that would seal my fate, turning me from the owner of this house into a destitute outcast.
As soon as I finished signing, Ethan hastily gathered the documents and checked the signatures one more time. His face was beaming with joy. At that moment, I naively thought he was happy because he could help my family.
“Done,” he said, pulling me into a tight hug. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. I promise your parents won’t have to suffer anymore.”
I hugged him back, shedding tears of emotion. At that moment, I believed I had my old husband back. I believed that even if our family crumbled, I had the strongest pillar in him.
I didn’t know I was living in a false happiness. I naively believed the storm had truly passed. I thought Ethan’s love had overcome all material calculations. I didn’t realize that this was just the executioner’s final kindness before the axe fell, the calm before a storm that would devastate everything.
And that storm arrived on a weekend afternoon.
That evening, I prepared a lavish dinner with all of Ethan’s favorite dishes. I wanted to thank him for everything he had done for my family. When he came home from work, I ran happily to greet him, but what I received wasn’t his usual warm smile. His face was as cold as ice, and the look he gave me was strange and contemptuous.
“Ethan, what’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.
He didn’t answer. He walked right past me and went straight to the living room. There, his mother, Carol, was already sitting, waiting for him with an impassive expression.
“Sit down,” Ethan said in a dry voice. “We need to talk.”
I had a bad feeling. My heart started pounding. I sat cautiously on the opposite sofa.
Ethan didn’t beat around the bush. He pulled a folder from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table with a thud.
“Sign it.”
With trembling hands, I picked up the papers. The moment two words printed in bold jumped out at me, I felt my whole world explode.
Divorce petition.
I was frozen. My ears were ringing.
“Divorce? Why divorce, Ethan? You’re kidding, right?” I stammered, unable to believe my eyes. “Why? Why so suddenly? What? What did I do wrong?”
Ethan laughed. A laugh that in hindsight was incredibly fake and terrifying.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t love you anymore. Our lives are too different. I can’t keep living with a woman who’s dragging the weight of a family like yours behind her.”
The weight of a family.
Just a week ago, he had promised we would bear it together.
And now tears started to well up.
“No, this can’t be. There must be a misunderstanding. Ethan, look at me. It’s me, Sophia.”
But he didn’t look at me. He stared coldly at the papers.
“Sign it. Don’t waste my time.”
It was then that my mother-in-law spoke. Her voice was no longer gentle, but laced with contempt.
“Still don’t get it after everything he’s told you?” She said scornfully. “Look at yourself. Your parents are broke. You’re not a rich kid anymore. Do you think my son is stupid enough to keep carrying a burden like you? The only reason he stayed with you these past few years was because of your family. Now that your family is finished, so is your relationship. It’s that simple.”
Every word was a knife stabbing into my bleeding heart.
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