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“A mattress?” I snapped. “You lied to my pregnant daughter. Humiliated her. Made her sleep on the floor. This isn’t about a mattress—it’s about decency.”
She stammered. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“No,” I said. “You’ve resented Aurelia since day one. That resentment just cost you our marriage.”
Sarelle came downstairs, confused. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“You have three days,” I told them. “I won’t live with anyone who treats my child like she’s disposable.”
Vionna gasped. “After everything I’ve done?”
“After everything Aurelia’s survived,” I said. “Don’t play the victim.”
She erupted—pleading, shouting, cursing. I stayed calm. “Come, sweetheart,” I said to Aurelia. “Let’s start their packing.”
Three days later, they were gone. No apology. Just slammed doors.
The house exhaled.
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