Vera stood there in the kitchen, wiping away the last of her tears. The slap she had given her daughter felt like an echo of everything that had gone wrong. She knew Liza was right in many ways, but she also knew that confronting Victor would lead to more pain. The idea of him walking out on her, leaving her alone with nothing, was too much to bear. She had already given up so much to hold onto this life.
As she washed the dishes, Vera’s thoughts wandered back to the time before Victor’s promotion. She had been a woman with her own career, her own friends, her own life. But after the promotion, when he insisted she stay home and “take care of things,” she had fallen into a trap. Her independence had slowly withered away, replaced by the relentless routine of cooking, cleaning, and waiting. She had sacrificed herself for a life that no longer felt like her own.
The silence in the house felt suffocating. She hadn’t heard from Victor since he left for “work” this morning. Of course, she knew better. He had been out late the past few nights, coming home with a distracted look, always quick to say he was working hard. But Vera wasn’t blind. She had seen the signs long ago—his disinterest, his dismissive attitude, the late nights. The affair wasn’t new, just more obvious now.
But what could she do? She was trapped in her own silence, not because she didn’t have the strength to confront him, but because she feared the truth. Victor would leave her. He had enough money now to do so, and with his power, he could easily replace her. The thought of losing everything—the house, the life she had built—was terrifying. The worst part was that deep down, Vera knew she deserved better, but she had no idea how to start again.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming. Liza appeared, standing in the doorway with a defiant look on her face. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since their argument earlier. Vera expected a repeat of the usual tension, but instead, Liza’s voice broke the silence with a softness that surprised her.
“Mom,” Liza said quietly, her arms crossed, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I just—” She paused, glancing away before continuing, “I don’t want you to live like this.”
Vera wiped her eyes again, this time not from crying but from the realization of how far apart they had drifted as a family. “Liza,” she said, her voice gentle but tired, “you don’t understand. I’m not as strong as you think. I can’t just walk away from everything. I don’t have the strength left to fight for myself.”
Liza’s face softened, but there was a fire in her eyes, a desire to protect her mother from a world that seemed so unfair. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said. “I’m here. And I know you’re strong enough to stand up for yourself. You’ve just forgotten how.”
Vera stood there, her daughter’s words hitting her like a jolt of electricity. She had forgotten. She had forgotten that she wasn’t just someone’s wife or mother. She was a person, with her own dreams, her own hopes, her own worth.
The silence in the room lingered, but this time it was different. It wasn’t the silence of resignation. It was the silence before a decision, the quiet before a storm. For the first time in years, Vera felt something stir within her—a small, but powerful flicker of hope.
Maybe it was time to stop tolerating the betrayal. Maybe it was time to stop being the “sufferer” and start taking back control.
She turned to her daughter, her voice steady now, “You’re right, Liza. I’ve been letting him walk all over me. But I’m not going to do it anymore.”
Liza’s face lit up, a proud smile spreading across her lips. For the first time in a long time, Vera saw a glimpse of the woman she could be—the woman she was meant to be.
And as she walked towards the kitchen, her heart felt lighter. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but it was her road, and for the first time, Vera was ready to take the first step.