Chapter 1At the family reunion, my husband Hayes slapped my mom across the face. Hard.
"This is your fault! You raised Sloane wrong!"
"She doesn't even know she's supposed to toast the in-laws first!"
"Now you're gonna toast them for her!"
Mom wiped the blood from her mouth.
Pressed down my trembling, rage-filled hand.
"Okay. I'll say sorry for her too."
"Just... please don't make things hard on her anymore."
Watching my mom down that drink, my mother-in-law looked happy, Hayes smiled.
And everyone went back to eating.
But when Hayes showed up that night with a giant bouquet of roses to apologize?
I was gone.
All he got was a call from his dad:
"Why did Sloane pull all the design rights from the company??"
"The company's FUCKED!"
"GO FIND HER AND FIX THIS!"
...
When he slapped her, my mom's body jerked to the side.
Her knee hit the floor so hard it was louder than the slap.
Hayes pulled his hand back, straightened his sleeve, and shoved a shot glass in my mom's face.
"Mom, drink this and we're good."
He called her Mom.
Hit her and still called her Mom.
My mom's hands were shaking as she reached for the glass.
Blood dripped from her mouth down her chin.
I shot up out of my chair. It scraped loud across the floor.
"Sloane, see? This is what happens when Mom spoils you. You don't even know basic manners."
Hayes turned to look at me.
His face was so soft, like he felt bad about the whole thing.
Totally different from two seconds ago when he was hitting someone.
"Hayes Ashford!"
My mom suddenly grabbed my ankle.
She was on her knees, looking up at me with tears in her eyes.
"Sloane, please. Don't make this worse."
"This is my fault. I didn't teach you right. I'll say sorry for you, just... stop talking..."
She was on her knees, holding the drink with both hands, holding it out toward my in-laws.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't raise her right. Let me toast you both."
Her voice was so quiet I could barely hear her.
But every word felt like a knife.
My mother-in-law Vivienne finally looked satisfied.
She took the glass and sipped it.
"Sandra, we're all family here. No need to make such a scene."
Family.
I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Hayes's side had over twenty people.
My side had me and my mom.
This whole "family reunion" thing was just them ganging up on us.
"Oh come on, Hayes just wants what's best for Sloane."
Hayes's aunt jumped in, trying to smooth things over.
His cousin's wife nodded along.
"Yeah, he didn't have a choice. Someone's gotta keep her in line."
I heard someone whisper:
"Single mom household, what do you expect."
My head was buzzing.
I knew if I lost it right now, Hayes wouldn't touch me.
But he'd just hurt my mom again.
Chapter 2
Five years.
It's been like this every single time.
Ever since we got married, my mom became his punching bag.
I bent down and helped my mom off the floor.
"Mom, your mouth is bleeding. Let me take you to clean it up."
Hayes smiled and handed me a tissue, all concerned.
"Yeah, go ahead. Don't take too long though—you still gotta toast the elders."
I took the tissue. Didn't look at him.
Walking my mom out, I heard glasses clinking behind us.
Someone said, "Hayes's wife needs more training."
In the hallway.
My mom leaned on me, limping a little.
Her knee was probably bruised bad.
"Sloane, don't be upset. I'm totally fine."
"Just go back and toast everyone, and this'll all blow over."
"I know you're mad, but Hayes is so good to you. He just drank too much tonight..."
I sat her down in a chair.
Got down on my knees and wiped the blood off her mouth with the tissue.
"Mom, stop. I'm taking you home."
"But the dinner's not over—"
"Home."
I stood up, took her hand, and headed for the elevator.
When the doors closed, I saw my face in the mirror.
So pale I looked dead.
Twenty-minute drive home.
In those twenty minutes my mom said "Hayes is actually a good guy" four times.
I didn't say anything back.
We got inside. I sat her on the couch and went to grab the first aid kit.
When I dabbed iodine on the cut, she flinched.
My hand stopped.
I stared at that cut. At the swelling on her cheek.
Then I put the cotton swab down and pulled out my phone.
Found Brynn's name. Called her.
"Brynn."
"Yeah? What's up, it's late."
"I need you to write up divorce papers."
Silence for like two seconds.
"Wait, what? What happened—"
"I'll explain later. Can you do it fast?"
"Yeah, I'll have it tomorrow. What do you want?"
"Nothing. I just want out."
Hung up.
My mom stared at me, face totally white. She grabbed my arm.
"You can't divorce him."
"You're thirty. What are you gonna do after?"
"I can take it. Hayes is really good to you..."
"He's good to me." I pulled my arm back. "What about you?"
She froze.
"Sloane, I... I'm doing this because I want to. I don't want you ending up like me—alone with a kid..."
Her voice got quieter and quieter.
I knew exactly what she was thinking.
She spent her whole life being labeled "divorced woman."
She's terrified I'll end up the same way.
And Hayes knows that about her.
That's why he never touches me.
He just has to yell at her. Humiliate her.
And then my mom does the work for him—she convinces me to apologize.
So if I don't want my mom to get hurt, I can't fight this directly.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile.
"Mom, I was just talking. I didn't mean it."
"Go wash up and sleep. Your face will look better tomorrow."
I basically pushed her into the bedroom.
After I closed the door, I leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling.
Then I picked up my phone again and texted Brynn.
"Also, can you pull a list of every design patent I gave Ashford Group?"
She texted back right away.
"Got it. I'll send it with the divorce papers tomorrow morning."
The living room light was still on.
The calendar said August 1st, 2026.
Just another regular day, five years into this marriage.
And the day I decided to end it.
Sloane, you've put up with this long enough.
You're done.
Chapter 3
1:20 in the morning.
I heard Hayes's footsteps from the front door.
Then the fridge opening.
Chopping sounds.
Stove turning on.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Didn't move.
Fifteen minutes later he walked in with a bowl of pasta.
"Knew you'd still be up."
He was smiling. Looked so gentle. Like the perfect husband.
"I saw you didn't eat much at dinner. Don't go to bed hungry."
"Made your favorite tomato pasta. Want some?"
He put the bowl on the nightstand and sat next to me.
"Sloane, I was wrong tonight."
His voice had that perfect amount of guilt in it.
"I shouldn't have done that to your mom in front of everyone."
"Tomorrow I'll bring her a gift and say sorry. Okay?"
I looked down at the pasta. Basil chopped up on top.
Every time he hurts my mom, he makes this pasta.
Five years. He's made it at least a dozen times.
The first time was our second year of marriage.
That time he just yelled at my mom—told her to "get out of the way."
Why?
She came over to cook and put in too much salt. Disrespecting his parents' taste.
That night he did the same thing. Brought in pasta.
Said sorry. Hugged me. Said "I'll treat you right forever."
I cried and forgave him.
Then there was a second time. A third.
And it kept going... until tonight.
It got worse each time—from yelling, to insults, to hitting.
Why didn't I leave?
Because he really is good to me.
Five years and he's never said one mean thing to me.
When his parents complain that I can't have kids or I'm not doing stuff right, he always defends me.
He buys me clothes, jewelry, bags.
Takes me on trips.
His Instagram is full of cute photos of us.
Everyone says I married up.
But what's the cost?
The cost is that every time I do something he—or his family—doesn't like, my mom's the one who gets punished.
"Sloane?"
He waved his hand in front of my face.
"What are you thinking about? Pasta's getting cold."
I picked up the fork and took a bite.
"Is your mom asleep?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"How's her face? I'll have someone drop off some good cream tomorrow."
"Don't bother."
He looked at me, like he was trying to figure out how mad I actually was.
Then he pulled me into a hug.
"Babe, don't be mad. I went too far. I swear it won't happen again."
His chin rested on top of my head.
I could feel his heartbeat.
So gentle.
But when I closed my eyes, all I saw was my mom on her knees with blood running down her chin.
I didn't push him away.
Didn't hug him back either.
Just sat there stiff for a while, then put the bowl down.
"I'm tired. Going to sleep."
He said "okay" and turned off the light.
In the dark I lay there with my eyes open, listening to him clean up, showered, lie down, and finally—his breathing evened out.
The whole time he felt totally fine about everything.
Because in his experience, this was already over.
Tomorrow he'll send flowers, send gifts, take me out somewhere nice, and everything goes back to normal.
Until next time he's not happy.
Then we do it all over again.
But Hayes, this is the last time.
I swear.
I woke up at six.
Got dressed quietly and left the bedroom.
Checked my mom's room first.
Door was cracked open. She was curled up under the blanket.
I closed the door and sat on the couch, opened my phone.
Brynn's message came in at 3 a.m.
A draft of the divorce papers.
A list of every design patent I gave to Ashford Group.
The list was long.
Ashford Group's "Hartley Lane" women's line—every hit piece this season—I designed all of it.
Twenty-seven original designs.
Silhouettes, prints, fabric techniques.
These designs are under my name.
The contracts I signed said I could pull them anytime.
That was the one thing I insisted on before joining the company.
Hayes smiled and said yes back then.
Said "do whatever you want, you're my wife."
He probably never thought I'd actually do it.
I texted Brynn back:
"Can you also process pulling all the rights today?"
"Print two copies of the divorce papers and send them to my address."
"Also, I'm going to the office today to quit."
After I sent it, I added:
"Thanks Brynn."
She replied fast:
"Don't worry about it. That's what I'm here for."
"I'm just worried about you. You okay?"
"I'm fine. I just see things clearly now. Go rest and we'll talk later."
I made breakfast for my mom and left it in her room.
Left a note: Mom, going to the office to handle something. Back by lunch.
Left at eight.
Hayes was still asleep.
Probably dreaming.
In his dream, a thousand roses fixes everything.
