ened my mouth, but no words came. She had me. I was trapped.

And I had no idea how to get out.

***

The following days were pure hell.

From the moment Oliver left for work, Marian and Greg acted as if they were on an all-inclusive vacation—except I was the staff.

“Kayla, bring me some coffee,” Marian called out cheerfully from the couch, eyes glued to the TV as if she had been born there.

I was in the middle of loading the dishwasher.

My hands were wet, and my patience thin.

“The coffee maker is right there,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

“But you make it so much better, dear,” she cooed.

Before I could respond, Greg’s voice cut through the air.

“Hey, kid, grab me a drink,” he barked at Arthur, who had just wandered into the kitchen.

Arthur, standing by the fridge, didn’t move. He just stared at Greg, lips pressed into a thin line. No.

No way.

“He’s not your waiter, Greg,” I snapped, stepping between them.

“Then you bring it,” he muttered, not even bothering to look at me.

I breathed deeply, gripping the counter until my knuckles turned white. I grabbed Arthur’s shoulder gently.

“Go play in the yard, sweetheart.”

That was just the start.

Laundry? I did it for six people.

Cooking?

Marian and Greg seemed to believe meals magically appeared whenever they were hungry.

And weekends?

That was when the nightmare cranked up to full volume.

Marian started inviting guests—her friends, her yoga instructor, her hairstylist’s cousin’s neighbor. I cooked, cleaned, and served while she played the charming hostess.

“Darling, can you make that cherry pie again?” she trilled one afternoon as I scrubbed the sink for the third time that day.

I gritted my teeth. “We’re out of cherries.”

“Oh well.

I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

It was infuriating. But the worst part?

When Oliver came home, everything looked… normal. Spotless.

The house was tidy, the kids were happy, and Marian and Greg sat together, sipping tea like peaceful retirees.

“Why do you look so exhausted?” Oliver asked one evening. “Mom is helping you, isn’t she?”

I stared at him. Then, at Marian, who gave me a sweet, knowing smile.

Then, at the kitchen, gleaming as if no one had spent the entire day slaving away in it.

“Yes… helping,” I murmured, forcing a smile so my face wouldn’t betray me.

I had to stop that. But to do it, I would have to reveal my own secret. The one I had kept from Oliver all those years.

But I couldn’t fight Marian alone.

That’s why I had to bring into our house the one person whose truth could shatter her control completely. Her ex-husband.

***

The weekend morning was slow: Marian lounged with a magazine, Greg put his feet on the coffee table, and Oliver was coming downstairs for breakfast, still half-asleep.

Then, a quiet knock at the door. I opened.

Oliver’s father, Thomas, stood there.

Oliver froze. Marian’s face went pale. Greg sat up straighter.

“Dad?” The emotions flash across Oliver’s face.

“I thought you abandoned us.”

“That’s not true, son.

I left because your mother…”

“Don’t you dare!” Marian shot up from the couch.

“… made my life unbearable,” he finished.

Oliver turned to Marian.

“That’s a lie!” she spat. “Kayla set me up!”

“Oliver,” I took a deep breath. “I really did help your father years ago.”

“Explain,” Oliver looked at me.

“Do you remember when I used to work as a lawyer?

That was my last case. A client came to me. His ex-wife wanted to take everything from him.

His house, money, and even the right to see his son. I won the case.”

Oliver frowned. “And?”

“Years later, I found out that man was your father.”

Oliver’s eyes darted to Thomas.

“You never told me?”

“You hated me, son. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Marian let out a sharp laugh.

“Well, there you have it! But what difference does it make?

We’re here. We are family!”

I clenched my fists.

“That’s exactly why you thought you could control me, isn’t it, Marian? You knew I had a secret.

Oliver only knew the version of the story you’d been feeding him for years. You knew he wouldn’t believe me if I told him the truth.”

Oliver’s frown deepened. “What truth?”

Marian waved a dismissive hand.

“Oh, don’t listen to her, darling. She’s just upset that I’ve been staying here.”

I stepped forward.

“She used me, Oliver. She knew I wouldn’t dare say anything because I was afraid of how you’d react.

And in the meantime, she and Greg settled in comfortably, letting me handle the house while they treated me like a maid.”

Marian scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. We had nowhere else to go!”

Oliver turned to his father.

“Is that true?”

“The house she lived in wasn’t hers. It was mine,” Oliver’s father said. “But I let her stay there, Oliver.

Despite everything, I didn’t want to throw her out onto the street. I thought she needed time to figure things out. And I was willing to give her that—until she brought Greg into the house.”

Marian smirked.

“Oh, now it’s a crime to move on with my life? I had every right to invite my partner into my home!”

Oliver frowned. “So you were living there peacefully until Greg moved in?”

His father nodded.

“That was my limit. I asked them both to leave.”

Oliver turned to his mother. “You told me Dad left because he cheated.”

“Well, I may have exaggerated a little,” she admitted, laughing.

Oliver ran a hand through his hair, stepping back as if seeing his mother for the first time.

Then, Thomas took a step closer.

“When Kayla called me in tears, I realized exactly what was happening. That, Oliver, is when I knew I had to step in.”

“Mom, I can’t believe this. You lied to me for years about Dad, and now you’ve manipulated your way into my home.”

“I am your mother, Oliver.

I raised you. You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you my wife’s sanity.”

Greg, quiet the entire time, stretched lazily and shrugged. “Well, guess that’s that.”

Oliver’s gaze snapped to him.

“You don’t seem too concerned.”

“Not my house, not my problem.”

“Not anymore, it’s not. You both need to leave. Now.”

Marian lingered as if searching for a last chance to manipulate the situation.

But it was over. An hour later, they left our house.

Thomas stayed. Oliver needed time with his father.

Time to unlearn the lies he had been told for years. Time to rebuild what had been broken.

While they talked in the living room, I tucked the kids into bed, kissing each sleepy forehead. And then, I had plans of my own.

That night, the house was finally quiet.

I walked into the kitchen and opened my laptop. The pastry course was waiting.

Source: amomama