4. Bitter Hate

Mrs. Henderson sneered, her lips curling as she thrust the papers toward me. “Save your pathetic tears,” she hissed. “Sign the papers and disappear. You don’t belong here. You never did.”

Her words were cold and unrelenting, each syllable carving into me like a blade. My hands trembled as I stared down at the divorce papers, my tears falling in hot, silent streams. My vision blurred, the ink smudging beneath the weight of my despair.

I wanted to fight back. I wanted to scream, to tear the papers apart, to stand up to them both. But my strength had abandoned me, crushed beneath their cruel behavior towards me. My heart screamed for me to hold on, to not give in, but my body refused to move.

“Sign it!” Mrs. Henderson snapped, her voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the haze of my pain.

My trembling fingers hovered over the pen, torn between giving in and holding onto the last shred of strength I had left. Tears dripped onto the paper as I hesitated, my soul warring with itself. I had no one to defend me, no one to turn to.

Mrs. Henderson, her patience snapping, grabbed my trembling hand and forced the pen into my palm. Her grip was firm and unyielding, her nails digging into my skin as she shoved my hand toward the paper. My name was scrawled across the page, the act as much hers as it was mine.

As soon as the ink dried, Mrs. Henderson released me with a sneer, her contempt burning brighter than ever. Her hand lashed out one last time, the slap sharp and stinging. My head jerked to the side, my cheek ablaze with pain as fresh tears spilled over.

“Don’t you ever stress me like that again, you irritating mess!” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. She stepped back, looking down at me with disgust. “You have no place in this house. Leave before I personally throw you out.”

I clutched my stinging cheek, my heart breaking under the weight of everything that had happened.

My heart felt as though it had been ripped apart, the pain unbearable, suffocating. Each breath was a struggle against the crushing weight of betrayal. I clutched my chest, desperate to keep myself from shattering entirely. My tears had long since dried, but the raw ache in my eyes and throat lingered, a cruel reminder of how much I’d already cried.

“I… I can’t leave,” I sobbed, my voice trembling and faint, each word heavy with despair. “This is my parents’ house… their legacy… my inheritance.”

The words tasted bitter in my mouth, the truth of them piercing deeper than even Peter’s rejection. This was all I had left of my parents, and now it was slipping away too.

Before I could say another word, Peter’s hand shot out, gripping my arm with a cold, unrelenting force. His touch silenced me, its chill spreading through my body like frost. Without hesitation, he began dragging me toward the door, his strength overpowering my feeble resistance.

“Peter, please,” I begged, my voice cracking, desperation dripping from every word. My feet scraped against the floor, my shoes scuffing against the marble tiled floor as I struggled. “Please don’t do this to me! I have nowhere to go… no one to turn to. Please…”

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. Peter didn’t falter, his grip remaining firm, his pace unyielding. He didn’t even spare me a glance, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression as cold and detached as ever.

Behind me, cruel laughter erupted, sharp and mocking. Mrs. Henderson’s and Rachel’s voices rang out, their amusement cutting through the air like jagged glass. The sound twisted the knife in my heart, their ridicule making my humiliation complete.

By the time we reached the grand entrance, I was nearly limp, my strength drained. Peter stopped abruptly, his grip tightening for a moment before he released me. The sudden loss of support made me stumble, but before I could catch my balance, he shoved me with force.

I fell hard onto the gravel outside, the rough surface scraping my knees as I landed with a jarring thud. Pain shot through my legs, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. My palms stung where they had braced my fall, tiny rocks embedding into the skin.

Peter stood in the doorway, looking down at me as though I were dirt beneath his feet. His disgust was palpable, his words sharper than any blade.

“Martha Stewart, you’re better off dead than alive,” Peter sneered, his voice devoid of warmth or humanity. “No one will ever want a pathetic, blubbering pig like you.”

His words struck like a whip, each word leaving a fresh welt on my soul. My chest heaved as sobs tore through me, but I forced myself to speak, my voice raw and trembling.

“Please, Peter… please give me back my inheritance,” I begged, my tears falling unchecked, my hands clasped together as I pleaded. “They’re all I have left. Please.”

Peter scoffed, his expression darkening with cruel amusement. “There’s nothing here that ever belonged to you, or your filthy parents,” he spat, his tone dripping with contempt.

His words hit me like a thunderclap, confusion swirling with the pain in my chest. I looked up at him, my face streaked with tears, my mind racing to make sense of what he was saying.

“What are you talking about, Peter?” I choked out, my voice breaking. “Let me in… please. I’ll do anything. I’ll lose the weight. I’ll get into shape. I’ll be the woman you want me to be.”

Peter’s laughter was cold and sharp, a sound that twisted the knife of betrayal even deeper. “Shut the crap, Martha,” he snapped, his words slicing through the air like a blade. “I never loved you. Not from the start.”

The weight of his confession crashed down on me, my breath hitching as my knees buckled beneath me.

“Even if you get into shape,” he continued, his tone merciless, “even if you do every pathetic thing to try and please me, it won’t change a thing. I’ll never love you. You’ll never be anything more than a blubbering mess to me.”

The venom in his voice struck harder than any physical blow, leaving me paralyzed by his words. I opened my mouth to speak, to plead, but no words came out. My sobs were drowned out by the sound of the door slamming shut in my face.