sank deeper into the plush chair of the relaxation lounge. Somewhere in the background, soft instrumental music played.

It was the kind of music that was designed to melt stress away.

“Your water, ma’am,” a soft voice said to my side. “It’s cucumber and lemon infused.”

I had been in the spa for hours.

Wrapped in a robe. Slippers on my feet. And nothing but peace around me.

And yet?

I couldn’t relax.

The whole point of this, leaving my home and checking into a hotel, was to enjoy myself.

To wash the situation off me like a bad dream.

But instead, I sat thinking about it all and how it had unfolded.

I exhaled slowly, staring down at my hands.

Why did it hurt so much?

It wasn’t just about my bedroom or about Doreen. It was about Jake.

It was about the way he had looked at me when I walked into that room. Like I was being unreasonable.

Like I was the one making things difficult.

He had asked me to move like it was a favor. Like I wasn’t his wife, who deserved the same care and attention that his mother had received.

I swallowed hard, pressing my fingertips against my temples.

For years, I had been accommodating. For years, I had let Doreen’s little jabs and subtle insults roll off my back.

For years, I had told myself that “she didn’t mean it like that. Don’t make a big deal about it.”

And now?

Now she had tossed my clothes on the floor and made herself at home in my bedroom.

And Jake had let her!

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I married Jake because I thought he saw me. Because I thought he valued me.

But today had proved something I didn’t want to admit.

I was an afterthought in Jake’s life.

I clenched my jaw and sat up straighter.

No.

I wasn’t going to sit here drowning in this. I wasn’t going to let this spiral into something that ate me alive.

I had left for a reason. And I had made my point.

And if Jake wanted me back in that house, he was going to have to understand exactly why I left in the first place.

I took a slow sip of my water, letting the coolness settle in my chest.

For now?

I was going to finish my spa day.

But soon?

I was going to have a conversation Jake would never forget.

I walked through the front door of my house, dropped my bag onto the entryway table, and let the silence settle around me.

It smelled clean, like lemon-scented polish and fabric softener. Like someone had been desperately trying to make the house feel normal again.

Good.

I had only made it three steps into the living room before I saw him.

Jake was already waiting.

His arms were crossed, jaw tight. His dark circles told me that he hadn’t been sleeping well.

Good.

“Phoebe, you’re back,” he said, his voice unreadable.

“I live here, Jake,” I said simply.

Something flickered in his expression, but he masked it quickly.

“Well, thanks for finally coming home.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.

“Did my absence inconvenience you?”

“You didn’t have to leave.”

I laughed.

“I didn’t?” I gestured toward the bedroom. “Jake, you and your mother literally kicked me out of my own bed. You didn’t ask.

You didn’t suggest. You told me.”

He sighed.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” I challenged. “Because from where I was standing, it looked a hell of a lot like you were telling me I didn’t belong in my own damn home.”

Silence.

I could see my husband fighting with himself, wanting to defend his actions but also knowing I was right.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he said finally.

I nodded slowly, absorbing the words.

There it was.

“You didn’t think it was a big deal?” I repeated. “Of course, you didn’t. Because it wasn’t your bed being taken—you willingly gave it.

Your clothes weren’t thrown to the floor, your cupboard was perfectly untouched…”

He flinched.

“Jake, you stood there and watched while she erased me from our space. You just let it happen.”

“That’s not what I meant to do,” he said, his expression finally cracking under the pressure.

“But it’s what you did.”

He swallowed, looking down. And for the first time, I could see it.

The weight of everything sinking in.

“I thought I was keeping the peace,” he said.

We were both silent for a while.

“She left early, you know,” he said. “She said that she needed the cooking and cleaning to be done if she was going to be relaxed. She couldn’t handle the fact that she needed to do it.”

“I know,” I said.

“I didn’t expect her to stick around long after I left. She just wanted to be waited on.”

“She crossed a line in this house, Phoebe,” he said suddenly.

“Yeah, Jake,” I said, holding his gaze. “She did.

And so did you.”

He looked down again, nodding slightly.

For the first time since I had walked in, I saw it. The realization.

Not just that he had messed up. But why.

When he finally met my eyes again, he looked exhausted.

“I hate that you felt like you had to leave,” he admitted.

“I hate that I wasn’t made to feel like I could stay,” I continued.

Silence.

I watched him for a moment, gauging the sincerity.

He meant it.

“Good.”

“I’ll order takeout,” he said after a pause.

“Fine with me, Jake,” I said.

Then I walked past him toward our bedroom.

Where my clothes were back in place. Where my things were neatly put away. And where, finally, I belonged again.

What would you have done?

Source: amomama