Three years passed like that.
To everyone else, we looked like the perfect family — a devoted son, a kind mother, and a dutiful wife. But inside, I felt invisible.
Sometimes, Margaret would make little comments that pierced my heart.
“A man who loves his mother is a blessing to his wife.”
I would smile politely, even though every word stung. People often praised Daniel as a model son, but I couldn’t help wondering: what kind of son sleeps in his mother’s room every night for three years? Something felt off.
One sleepless night, around 2 a.m., I heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Daniel was leaving again.
