I woke up exhausted. It wasn’t just my pregnancy—it was the constant strain in our house. My husband, Ethan, was up, moving with quick, irritated steps.
“Awake finally?” His voice was sharp, no warmth. I sat up slowly. “I couldn’t sleep,” I said, touching my belly.
“If you didn’t lounge all day, you’d sleep fine,” he said coldly. I swallowed hard, hiding my hurt.
When I married Ethan, I thought he was my dream—smart, confident, steady. But his kindness faded, his words grew mean.
I see now he was always this way. I was too smitten to notice. Once he had my house and job, he stopped caring.
“Breakfast?” I asked, trying to soften him. He stared at his phone. “If it’s worth eating,” he said.
I went to the kitchen, starting bacon. This was my reality—serving a man who didn’t value me, in a house I’d signed over.
I’d trusted Ethan, thinking marriage meant partnership. I gave him everything, believing it was love.
“Bacon’s burning,” Ethan said behind me. “You always ruin it.” I stayed quiet, my throat tight.
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ll eat out.” He grabbed his jacket. “Clean this place up. It’s a mess.”
The door shut hard. Tears came. I couldn’t do this anymore. I grabbed my bag and walked to the store.
At the grocery store, my thoughts were heavy. I carried a small bag, stepping into the cool evening air of the parking lot.
Then I saw her—a woman with a cart of old clothes and blankets. A sign read, “Homeless and Hungry.”
I paused. She didn’t look defeated. Her hair was tidy, her clothes worn but clean. Her eyes had strength.
Something pulled me back. “Need anything?” I asked. She smiled. “That’s a long list, dear,” she said.
I laughed lightly. “Food? A drink?” She shook her head. “I just need time to rebuild,” she said.
Her voice was steady. I knelt beside her. “What happened?” I asked. She sighed. “My son threw me out. I was too much.”
“Your son?” I asked, stunned. “He didn’t want me around,” she said. Her story felt like mine.
“I understand,” I said. She looked at me. “Husband?” I nodded. “That clear?” She smiled. “You look weighed down.”
I opened up—my controlling marriage, my lost home. “I’m Sarah,” she said. “I’m Mia,” I replied. We sat, bonded.
“Got a place to go?” I asked. She shook her head. “Come home with me,” I said. She hesitated. “Your husband?”
“I’ll deal with him,” I said, unsure but determined. I brought Sarah home. She showered, and I gave her clothes.
She looked refreshed, almost new. “You didn’t need to do this,” she said. “I wanted to,” I said, smiling.
“When’s the last time someone was kind to you?” she asked. I froze, no answer. She chuckled. “That long?”
We sat with tea, the house calm. For the first time, I felt at peace. Then the door slammed. Ethan was home.
He saw Sarah and stopped. “Who’s this?” he growled. Sarah looked up. Ethan’s face paled. “Mom?” he said.
I gasped. Ethan’s shock turned to fury. “She’s a homeless stranger!” he yelled. “She’s not staying!”
Sarah stayed calm. “That’s how you talk about me?” Ethan snapped, “You left me. You’re not my mom.”
Sarah laughed. “Left? You kicked me out, Ethan.” He glared. “You chased your career, abandoned me!”
“I wanted my own life,” Sarah said. “Not to serve you and your dad. You wanted me to obey, nothing more.”
“You were a failure,” Ethan said. “I refused to raise a son who controls women,” Sarah said firmly.
Ethan turned to me. “Mia, why bring her here? This is my house!” I stood firm. “Our house,” I said.
He smirked. “Mine. I own it. Get out—both of you.” His words stung, but I was done with fear.
I tossed my key on the floor. “Keep it,” I said. “You’ve lost us.” I felt strong, unburdened.
I grabbed my coat and cash. Sarah and I walked out, the night cold. “Now what?” I asked, scared.
Sarah led me to a corner. A sleek silver car waited. She clicked a key, and it lit up. I stopped. “Is that stolen?”
She laughed. “It’s mine, Mia.” I blinked. “You said you were homeless.” She nodded. “I was, long ago.”
“I own a company now,” she said. “I pretended to be homeless to test you and Ethan.” We drove to a big house.
“Whose house?” I asked. “Mine,” she said, parking. “Why the trick?” I asked. “I saw your pregnancy,” she said.
“I needed to know if you were kind, if Ethan was cruel,” she said. “Now what?” I asked, teary. “I’ll help you,” she said.
Weeks later, I lived with Sarah, free from Ethan’s control. Then the doorbell rang. Ethan stood there, worn out.
“I was wrong,” he said. “I want to change.” Sarah scoffed. “Change?” Ethan looked down. “I hurt you both.”
“Prove it,” I said. “Get help. Support the homeless you shunned.” He nodded. “For our baby.”
Maybe he’d try, maybe not. But my future was mine, and I was ready to face it with my child.
