The Unseen Wife's Six-Year Sacrifice

Sumner Upsdell

Billionaires | Completed

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For six years, I was the perfect wife to a tech CEO and stepmother to his son, a role I took on to repay a debt. I poured my soul into a family that saw me as nothing more than a placeholder for his dead wife. On our anniversary, my six-year-old stepson pointed at our family portrait and screamed that he wanted me gone, replaced by my husband's assistant. Later, in a fit of rage, he killed my dog, my only link to my old life. My husband's only reaction was to call the dying animal a "menace." After six years of silent sacrifice, that single act of cruelty was the final straw. As I signed the divorce papers, my husband scoffed in disbelief. "You're throwing this all away for a dog?" I looked him dead in the eye. "That dog was more family to me than you ever were."

Family Divorce CEO Substitute wife Personal growth

Chapter 17

01-06 21:44

Chapter 1

On our anniversary, my six-year-old stepson pointed at our family portrait and screamed that he wanted me gone, replaced by my husband's assistant.

Later, in a fit of rage, he killed my dog, my only link to my old life. My husband's only reaction was to call the dying animal a "menace."

After six years of silent sacrifice, that single act of cruelty was the final straw.

As I signed the divorce papers, my husband scoffed in disbelief.

"You're throwing this all away for a dog?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "That dog was more family to me than you ever were."

Chapter 1

Almeda Hughes POV:

On our sixth anniversary, the perfect portrait of our family finally shattered, and it started with a single photograph I wasn't meant to be in.

For six years, I had played the part of Almeda Porter, wife to the tech CEO Hector Porter, and stepmother to his son, Jacob. Six years of pouring my soul into a home that never felt like mine, for a family that never truly saw me. Today was supposed to be a milestone. The family portrait, commissioned months ago, had finally arrived. It was perfect-a heavy, ornate frame enclosing a moment of manufactured happiness.

I carried it into the living room, my heart thumping with a nervous hope I should have known better than to entertain. Hector was on the sofa, scrolling through his tablet, and Jacob was building a tower of blocks on the Persian rug. The silence in the cavernous room was a familiar, heavy blanket.

"It's here," I said, my voice sounding too bright, too eager. I propped the large portrait against an empty chair, turning it for them to see.

In the photo, I stood slightly behind Hector' s shoulder, my hand resting gently on the back of his chair. Jacob was seated on his father' s lap, a rare, fleeting smile captured on his face. We looked like a family. We looked real.

Jacob looked up from his blocks, his eyes, so much like his father's, landing on the portrait. His small face, usually a mask of indifference towards me, twisted into a scowl.

"I don't like it," he stated, his voice sharp and clear.

The fragile hope in my chest cracked. I forced a smile. "Why not, sweetie? We all look so nice."

He stood up, walked over to the portrait, and jabbed a small finger at my face. "I don't want her in it."

The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. I felt the air leave my lungs. Six years of patient breakfasts he refused to eat, of bedtime stories he ignored, of gentle questions met with stony silence-it all coalesced into this one, brutal rejection.

"Jacob," I started, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm part of the family."

"No, you're not!" he yelled, his voice rising. "You're not my mom! I want Helene in the picture! Helene is my mom!"

Helene Rojas. My husband's executive assistant. The woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to his deceased wife, Geneva. The woman Jacob adored because she looked like the mother he barely remembered. The woman who was a constant, smiling phantom in our marriage.

I looked at Hector, my eyes pleading for him to intervene, to say something, anything. He finally set down his tablet, his gaze unreadable. He saw the portrait, saw his son's tantrum, saw the pain etched on my face.

"Jacob, that's enough," he said, his tone lacking any real heat. It was the voice he used for minor business inconveniences. "Almeda is your mother now. Be good."

"She's not!" Jacob shrieked, his face turning red. "I hate her!"

My carefully constructed composure was crumbling. The fatigue of six years washed over me in a tidal wave. Six years of trying, of hoping, of pretending this contractual obligation could somehow blossom into a real family.

I was so, so tired.

"I'm done," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "I can't do this anymore."

I turned and walked out of the living room, the sound of Jacob' s continued shouts fading behind me. I went to the sunroom, my sanctuary, and pulled out my phone. My hands were shaking as I dialed Gladys.

Gladys Morgan, Geneva' s mother and my former legal guardian. The woman who, with the best of intentions, had arranged this marriage.

"Almeda? Is everything alright?" her voice was crisp and pragmatic, as always.

Tears I hadn't realized were forming began to stream down my face. "Gladys," I choked out, "I'm leaving him. I'm leaving Hector."

There was a long pause on the other end. When she spoke again, her voice was heavy with a guilt I knew she'd carried for six years. "I know. I'm sorry, my dear. I thought... I thought it would be a stable home for Jacob. That he would eventually accept you."

"I did it for you, Gladys," I said, my voice gaining a sliver of strength. "I married him to repay you for taking me in. To give Jacob the home you wanted for him after Geneva... after she died. But I can't do it anymore."

The six-year contract was up. My obligation was fulfilled.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my stomach. I gasped, doubling over. Jacob stood in the doorway, his small face contorted with rage. He had thrown the heavy, framed portrait at me. The corner of it had dug into my abdomen.

"You're a bad woman!" he screamed, his words laced with a venom that was terrifying in a six-year-old. "You made Daddy mad! Helene would never make Daddy mad!"

I straightened up, ignoring the throbbing pain. My heart felt hollow. "I'm leaving, Jacob. You'll have Helene all to yourself soon."

"Good!" he spat.

I turned my back on him, my decision solidifying from a weary whisper into an unshakeable resolve. I was walking towards the stairs when Hector appeared at the end of the hall, his face a thunderous mask.

"What did you say to him?" he demanded, striding towards me. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't even glance at the heavy frame lying on the floor. His only concern was his son.

"She said she's leaving!" Jacob wailed, running to his father. "She's a liar!"

Hector' s cold eyes locked onto mine. "You're upsetting him, Almeda. You're always so dramatic. Why can't you be more like Helene? She knows how to handle him."

He pushed past me, his shoulder bumping mine hard. He scooped Jacob into his arms, comforting him with soft murmurs. I stood there, invisible, as he carried his son away.

I let out a shaky breath and started up the stairs to pack. I took one last look at the portrait on the floor. My face in the photo smiled back at me, a stranger from a life I was now leaving behind.

Just as I reached the landing, the doorbell chimed. A moment later, Helene's voice, sweet as poison, drifted up from the foyer.

"Hector? Jacob? I brought your favorite coconut cream cake for the anniversary celebration!"

I looked down. She stood there, a vision in a white dress, holding a pristine cake box. She looked up and our eyes met. A triumphant smirk played on her lips. She had won.

She walked into the living room, and I closed my bedroom door, the soft click echoing the final, merciful end to my marriage.