Chapter 7

"I just don't understand," Catherine's voice dripped with practiced disdain, "how a child can fall ill so frequently under proper care. Unless, of course, the care isn't proper at all."

"Dr. Sanders said that viruses are invisible enemies that can make anyone sick. Grandma, please don't blame Mommy!" Billy spoke up, his voice clear and steady.

Grace's perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. "Dr. Sanders? Your mother's old friend?" The emphasis she placed on those last words made them sound filthy.

I watched Isabella lean forward, her designer dress rustling softly. "Oh, Sophia. How... convenient that you ran into him at the hospital."

Something inside me shifted. Maybe it was the memory of Henry's threats in the stairwell, or the bruises still hidden beneath my sleeves. Or maybe it was simply that after signing those divorce papers in my mind, I no longer felt the need to maintain this charade of respect.

"Billy," I said softly, "why don't you go upstairs and start your reading? Mom will be up soon to help you with the difficult words."

My son looked up at me, concern evident in his eyes that were so like his father's. "But Mom..."

"Trust me, sweetheart. I can handle this."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, I'll wait for you upstairs."

Once Billy was gone, I turned back to face them. "You know, Grace, speaking of convenient meetings, I recently received some interesting photos from the Park Avenue Hotel. Would you like to see them?"

The color drained from Grace's face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You're bluffing," Grace sputtered, but her hands were shaking as she reached for her water glass.

"Am I?" I pulled out my phone, watching her eyes widen in recognition. "Should we ask your mother what she thinks about them?"

Catherine's perfectly composed expression cracked slightly. "Grace? What is she talking about?"

At this moment, Isabella cut in smoothly, "Let's calm down. Sophia, You shouldn't lie."

"Lie? You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Isabella?" I met her gaze steadily. "Just like you'd know all about manufacturing medical emergencies to monopolize hospital staff."

The silence that followed was deafening. Catherine was the first to recover, her voice sharp as broken glass. "How dare you speak to Isabella that way! After everything this family has done for you..."

"Done for me?" I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "You mean like threatening me? Isolating me? Treating me like a servant?"

"Sophia!" Grace's voice held a note of panic. "You can't speak to us like this!"

"Actually, I can. And I will." I straightened my spine. "I've spent five years trying to earn your respect, your acceptance. But I found out I was just wasting my time."

I turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Catherine? About Dr. Sanders， he saved my son's life while your precious Isabella was playing invalid upstairs. Maybe remember that next time you want to question my parenting."

After saying that, I left them there, mouths agape, and headed straight for Henry's study. My hands were shaking as I connected my laptop to his printer, but my resolve was firm. The divorce agreement I'd been drafting in secret was 14 pages long, meticulous in its details.

As I watched the pages emerge from the printer, I thought about the past five years. Every attempt to please Henry, every moment spent trying to be the perfect Harding wife, every night lying awake wondering why he couldn't love me the way he loved Isabella.

My signature looked strange on the final page, like it belonged to someone else. Sophia Wilson. Not Sophia Harding. Just Sophia Wilson, taking back her life.

I placed the agreement on Henry's desk where he couldn't miss it, right next to the fountain pen he'd inherited from his grandfather.

The dinner bell rang just as I finished, its melodious chime echoing through the mansion's hallways. Another Harding tradition – formal family dinners, mandatory attendance. I made my way to the Maple Grove dining room, one of twelve neoclassical buildings that made up the sprawling estate.

William Harding, the family patriarch, was already seated at the head of the table. Despite his age and declining health, he still commanded the room with his presence. His face lit up when he saw Billy.

"Ah, there's my favorite great-grandson!" William's voice boomed across the room. "Come here, let your great-grandfather give you a kiss!"

Billy ran to him, genuine joy on his face. William had always been kind to him, perhaps seeing something of himself in my precocious little boy.

I took my assigned seat next to Grace, nodding politely to William, Richard, and Catherine. William acknowledged me with a slight nod, Richard offered a kind smile, but Catherine barely managed a grunt.

Then Henry walked in, and my heart did that familiar painful twist. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his black pinstriped shirt, exposing his forearms – a casual gesture that somehow made him look even more powerful. His gray eyes swept the room, narrowing slightly when they landed on me.

But it was Isabella who commanded his attention, gliding to his side in a pale blue dress. She leaned close, whispering something in his ear that made him smile – a real smile, the kind I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

They sat together, of course. Isabella in what should have been my place, beside my husband. Her hand tightening possessively on Henry's arm, but I didn't care anymore.

As I watched them, I thought about the divorce papers waiting in his study. About the bruises hidden under my sleeves. About my son's brave defense of me.