My husband tried to force his mother into my home—so I threw his belongings into the garden and reminded him the house was never his, it was mine

“I miss who I thought he was.”

“And the woman you were?”

I touched the faint scar remaining on my lip.

“No. She survived long enough to become me.”

The maple leaves shifted softly above the garden.

Inside the house, every lock was mine.

Every room held peace.

And whenever I smiled, no one remained to command it.

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