My husband woke up after ten years in a coma from a car accident.

But I caught him kissing the new young nanny by the door.

He looked at me, utterly confused. "Who are you?"

He'd lost his memory, claimed he wanted to divorce me and marry the nanny.

I fainted on the spot, but in that foggy moment, I heard his voice, "I've been sick of living with you for years."

He thought I didn't know.

When I brought an old friend home with me, my husband panicked, demanding, "Who is he?"

When I woke up again, my son Damian Ospen was watching me with concern. Across the room, my husband, Wyatt Ospen, had his arms wrapped around the nanny.

Just seeing this scene felt like a knife twisting in my heart.

Wyatt glanced at me, then turned away, acting as if nothing had happened, continuing to flirt with Ezra.

"Baby, once I'm discharged, I'll take you to pick out jewelry for the wedding."

My daughter-in-law, Laurel Parnell, whispered something to him, and he immediately snapped, "Why not? I'm getting a divorce!"

He jabbed a finger at me, spitting venom. "Who is this old hag? She's disgusting and ancient—who'd want her as a wife? I don't even know her!

"I'm marrying Ezra. She's my true love."

As he spoke, he swept the bowl of bone broth I'd made off the table. "Who'd eat food she cooked? It's disgusting."

My eyes blurred with tears. I couldn't stop them from falling.

Damian and Laurel saw everything. They came over and actually said, "Mom, maybe you should just agree to the divorce.

"Dad finally woke up—even if he's forgotten you, he's still my dad.

"Don't you feel bad for him?

"He's like this now. Just let him have his way. Don't upset him."

I looked at Damian in disappointment.

He knew full well Wyatt wasn't suffering from amnesia. Still, he sided with Ezra, ready to throw me out of my own home.

For 30 years, I'd taken care of this family.

All my youth, all my energy, poured into this household.

Damian got married, bought a house, and started his own family. Before the wedding, Laurel insisted on a house, a car, and a fifty-thousand-dollar wedding gift.

Wyatt was just a low-level employee, coasting through life, never willing to swallow his pride and work harder to earn more.

For Damian's sake, I worked endless shifts at the factory, cleaned houses, took on every odd job I could find—scraping together thousands of dollars so he could settle down and have children.

When my grandkids, Cody and Faye, were born, Damian and Laurel handed them off to me without a second thought.

Then, when Wyatt was 40, he had an accident and ended up in a vegetative state.

Damian was the first to suggest pulling the plug.

It was I who stopped him. More than once, Damian tried to do it behind my back.

Our daughter, Maisy Ospen, never even called—not once.

But for the slim hope that Wyatt might wake up, I stayed by his side day and night, never leaving, caring for him for ten long years.

Ten years. They turned me into the ugly, old woman Wyatt now despised.

Now that he was awake, he and Damian were closer than ever.

Damian hired a nanny, supposedly to help me out. But after just a few days, he fell for her.

So much for conscience.

I walked over to his hospital bed and quietly picked up the lunchbox from the floor.

I hadn't eaten yet, not even a sip of water. I rushed over, only afraid he'd wake up hungry.

"You're my wife?" Wyatt frowned at me in disgust. "Why don't I remember you?

"And what are you wearing? Are you trying to embarrass me?"

I looked down at my clothes—a faded cleaning uniform.

Every penny we had went into his hospital bills over the years.

Damian's family had kids to raise, always coming to me for help.

Most days, I wore the same old tops and pants I bought 20 years ago when I first got married.

Sometimes, coworkers gave me their cast-offs.

The cleaning uniform I had on now was three years old—washed so much it's faded paper-thin.

I looked at the man before me—the man I'd prayed for, day and night, for ten years.

He was finally awake. But he didn't want me anymore.

Still, I couldn't help but reach out, wanting to touch his face.

For the first ten years, he'd been good to me—caring and gentle. I couldn't believe someone so kind could change overnight.

Before my hand could reach him, he slapped it away. "Don't touch me! Your hands are so rough!"

My hand quickly swelled and reddened. Damian snapped, "Mom, why are you touching him? Your calluses almost scratched Dad."

My calluses?

I looked down at my hands. For ten years, I'd washed his soiled clothes, emptied his bedpans, turned him over, and cleaned him up.

No wonder they were rough and scarred.

To make ends meet, I even took a cleaning job at the hospital.

My palms were covered in thick calluses and cracked scars.

I didn't want to say another word. I grabbed the lunchbox to leave, but Ezra snatched it from me, settling into Wyatt's lap in her tight black dress, smiling sweetly. "Wyatt, let me feed you."

Wyatt wrapped his arms around her waist without hesitation, shouting like a child, "I don't care! I'm marrying Ezra!"

Damian looked embarrassed. He glanced at me and hesitated before speaking. "Dad, what about Mom?"

"I don't care! Who cares about that ugly old woman? I just want Ezra!"

"Mom..." Damian looked at me hopefully. Laurel whispered, "Mom, Dad can't be upset right now. Maybe..."

"All right," I said calmly.

Wyatt hadn't expected that. For a moment, a flicker of panic and confusion flashed across his face. The next second, he went back to teasing Ezra, but his eyes kept darting over to me.

I opened the cabinet, pulled out a burlap sack, and packed up everything I'd kept in this tiny hospital room for the past ten years.

My bedding, my folding cot, my kettle, and my towels.

Once everything was packed, I looked Wyatt in the eye. "Tomorrow morning at nine, I'll be waiting for you at the courthouse."

"Mom!"

Damian reached out, pretending to stop me, but his hand didn't even touch me. I didn't look back. I slung the sack over my shoulder and walked away.

"Nicole Harwick, have you lost your mind?!

"Wyatt just woke up, and you're already talking about divorce? Are you seeing some other man behind his back?

"You shameless little tramp!"

I had barely gotten home when Wyatt's sister, Heidi Ospen, found out I was divorcing him, and immediately called to scream at me.

All these years, because of Wyatt, I'd swallowed my pride and tolerated her. Now, her voice droned on and on over the phone. "You've been with Wyatt for so many years and now you want to act like some young person and get divorced?

"At your age, do you really think you can start over?

"I never liked you, not even before you got together with Wyatt.

"Uneducated, just a country nobody.

"If Wyatt hadn't been soft-hearted and settled for you, do you really think you—"

Click.

I hung up. I didn't even bother blocking her—I just deleted her number.

I never answer calls from strangers anyway.

It didn't take long for Damian to find out about the divorce.

His calls came one after another.

I glanced at the screen and let it ring.

I packed my suitcase alone in the house.

All these years while Wyatt was sick, I managed the home just fine by myself.

But after decades of living here, I realized there was hardly anything that truly belonged to me.

Pots and pans, laundry detergent, shoe brushes—things I once called mine, I left them all behind.

I only packed a few changes of clothes and my savings book.

There was 15,000 dollars in that account—my life savings, scraped together from years of hard work.

Once the house was tidied up, I found a little diner down the street and ordered a bowl of chicken pasta soup.

Suddenly, a message popped up from Damian.

It was a photo.

Wyatt sat in a wheelchair, cuddling with Ezra. Damian and Laurel were there, even Cody and Faye.

Six of them, huddled close around a big round table in a restaurant, smiling for the camera.

Damian's caption read, "Celebrating Dad's discharge and new beginning."

I turned off my phone and finished my meal.

When I stepped out of the restaurant, the sunset outside was blazing red. I stood there, lost in thought, staring at the sky.

It struck me that I hadn't watched a sunset in over a decade.

Even when Wyatt was in a coma, he needed constant care—turning him over to prevent bedsores, washing him, scrubbing his clothes by hand.

I never had a moment's rest.

But as I watched the sun go down, I felt everything fall away.

I finally accepted that I'd wasted 30 years on someone who never loved me.

That night, I didn't go home. Instead, I checked into a fancy hotel nearby.

After years of sleeping on that narrow, hard cot in the hospital, the softness of the king-sized bed felt almost foreign.

It took me a long time to fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, my phone started ringing off the hook.

I glanced at the screen—it was Wyatt.

The moment I answered the phone, Damian's angry, reproachful voice blasted through the line. "Mom, where did you run off to this time?

"It's the middle of the night—why aren't you home?

"Dad still needs someone to help him bathe, clean up after him, and change him. I can't do all that! I have to get home tonight!"

They never thought of me while they were out feasting and celebrating.

But once their bellies were full and work needed to be done, suddenly they remembered I existed.

I lay on the soft hotel bed, my tone flat. "Didn't you hire a nanny?"

Damian was practically hysterical. "The nanny only feeds him—who's going to clean up his messes? That's always been your job!

"Dad needs to go to the bathroom now. Come home! The whole place reeks!"

Wyatt might have woken up, but after ten years in bed—even with my constant massages—his muscles had wasted away.

Even if he could leave the hospital, he'd be confined to a wheelchair or stuck in bed.

He still had to use a bedpan.

"I'm not coming back. Let your dad's new wife take care of it."

I spoke calmly.

For a moment, Damian was completely speechless.

Then Laurel picked up the phone. "Nicole, you can't say that. You and Wyatt have been together for decades—why get so petty now?

"He only wants you to care for him. He won't let anyone else near him.

"How can you just stand by and let him suffer like this?"

He only wants me to care for him?

How laughable.

A sharp pain stabbed at my chest.

Wyatt knew exactly who made him comfortable.

Ezra always found it disgusting—she never touched anything dirty.

Damian, just catching a glimpse of the mess, would start cursing Wyatt, calling him a useless burden.

Even when Wyatt was immobile, he could still hear what was said around him.

Listening to Laurel, Damian had tried more than once to force me to pull the plug.

Now that Wyatt was awake, he was terrified of being despised by his own family for his condition—so he remembered his old servant. Me.

Once, I was willing to suffer for him, because I loved him.

But now, that love was gone. Why should I keep enduring this?

"If he doesn't want to go, he can hold it."

Click.

I hung up and switched my phone to airplane mode.

That night, Instagram was buzzing.

First, Damian posted a photo of Ezra awkwardly struggling to help Wyatt to the bathroom, with the caption, "Getting old means even going to the bathroom is humiliating. I don't know how some people can be so heartless."

Ten minutes later, Laurel posted an update, "Wyatt lost his balance, fell, made a mess everywhere, and busted his forehead open—blood everywhere."

A crowd gathered, wailing and fussing, but not a single person dared help.

Wyatt, humiliated and furious, shouted, "Just let me die! I'm nothing but a worthless cripple!"

The Ezra he longed for kept her distance, her brows furrowed tight, looking terrified she might get dirty.

Half an hour later, someone finally cleaned up the mess, and things quieted down.

Wyatt sent me a voice message, his voice shaking with rage as he called me by my full name, "Nicole Harwick! Be at the courthouse first thing in the morning!

"I want a divorce! I'm going to marry Ezra!"

I knew he was doing it on purpose.

But this time, my heart felt nothing at all.

I gazed out at the endless night beyond the window, not sure if I felt relief or sorrow. The heaviness in my chest wouldn't lift.

Even though I'd accepted long ago that Wyatt didn't love me, it still hurt to know I'd wasted all my youth loving a man who never deserved it.

Still, morning would come soon.

Today, I would finally be free.

Just as dawn broke, my internal clock woke me up naturally.

It was only five in the morning.

At this hour, I was always up, tending to Wyatt's needs—helping him to the bathroom, cleaning him up.

But today, I stayed right where I was, sprawled across the spacious hotel bed, unmoving.

After a moment, I picked up the phone and called the front desk. "Hi, sweetie, I'm not great with these new food delivery apps. Could you help me order some breakfast?"

The girl on the other end hesitated for a second, then quickly agreed.

Half an hour later, I sat staring at the unfamiliar breakfast in my hands, taking big, eager bites.

All these years, caring for Wyatt, I'd eaten nothing but bland hospital food. I could barely remember the last time I tasted anything from the outside world.

Even when I cooked for myself, it was always something plain and cheap, saving every penny for Wyatt's endless medical bills.

But this cutlet sandwich was unexpectedly delicious.

I devoured it hungrily, when suddenly my phone rang with a call I never expected.

It was Tobias Huxford, a classmate from years ago.

"Nicole, I heard you're getting divorced?"

I was caught off guard, not sure how to respond.

He rushed to explain, "I didn't mean anything by it. Word is your husband woke up and now he's raising a fuss about marrying the nanny. The whole class group is talking about it.

"I'm a lawyer now. Listen, do you want me to go with you to the courthouse?

"You're too kind-hearted. I just don't want you to get—"

He didn't finish, but I understood.

He was worried I'd get the short end of the stick.

Honestly, I hadn't planned to fight Wyatt over assets.

After all these years, there was barely anything left that we owned together—just that house everyone's been eyeing, and a couple of thousand dollars, our shared retirement savings.

Supporting Damian and Maisy, who worked out of state, had drained what little money we had left.

But then I thought, why shouldn't I fight for it?

I'd given my whole life—who ever cared about me?

"Tobias, thank you. I'm actually going to file for divorce today."

I paused. "Would you mind coming with me?"

"Of course. Call me at nine-thirty."

When I met Tobias outside the hotel, he pulled up in a sedan, stepping out with a bouquet of fresh flowers. "Nicole, here's to your new beginning!"

My eyes stung with sudden tears.

"Thank you."

As we drove, the city blurred past the windows. My nerves eased, just having someone by my side.

He dropped me off at the courthouse, and from a distance, I could already see a crowd gathered at the entrance.

Damian, Laurel, Maisy and her whole family were there, looking ready for a showdown.

Wyatt and Ezra stood out, both dressed head-to-toe in white, as if they were about to walk down the aisle.

Clearly, Wyatt was still bitter that I hadn't come running back to care for him last night. He'd dressed up like this just to spite me.

The car rolled to a stop in front of them, but Wyatt ignored us, scowling at the nearby bus stop. "Where's your mom? Don't tell me she chickened out.

"No matter what, I'm getting divorced today. If she doesn't show, go drag her here!"

Wyatt's voice was full of bravado.

But then the car door opened.

"I'm here. Let's go."

Tobias stepped out first, holding the door for me and following close behind.

Wyatt's smug expression vanished in an instant.

He glared at the tall, sharply dressed man beside me, his face darkening. "And who the hell is he?!"

I smiled, "Does it matter to you who he is?"