Chapter 1
The late afternoon sun sliced through the blinds of Tom's Auto Plaza back office, casting golden bars across his mahogany desk.
Sarah pushed through the door, confusion knotting her chest. "Why did you suddenly ask me to come to the store? What couldn't wait until we got home?"
Tom didn't even look up from his paperwork. Cold. Dismissive.
"Sarah, I want a divorce."
She stumbled backward, her hand finding the chair behind her for support.
"What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
"This isn't working anymore." His voice was eerily calm, like he was discussing the weather forecast. "I've made up my mind. We're done."
"Seventeen years, Tom." Her voice started to shake. "Seventeen years of marriage, and this is what I get?"
Finally, he looked up. Those blue eyes she once loved now felt like ice picks.
"You've become... comfortable. Too comfortable. Ashley makes me feel alive again."
Ashley.
"I'm not asking for your permission, Sarah." He stood up, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced precision. "I'm telling you how it's going to be."
Sarah wanted to scream, to throw something, to demand answers. Instead, she stood there like a statue, watching her world crumble.
Five o'clock traffic crawled past Sarah's windshield, but she barely noticed. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white.
Red light.
The shaking started then. Seventeen years of memories crashed over her like a tsunami—their first date at the county fair, their wedding in her parents' backyard, holding Maya for the first time, thousands of ordinary moments that had felt extraordinary.
Green light.
She drove past Mama's Diner, where families sat around tables, laughing over shared meals. Children giggled while parents chatted about their days. Normal families. Happy families.
"Seventeen years..." Sarah whispered to her empty car. "What am I supposed to do now?"
Home still looked the same. The kitchen glowed with warm yellow light, Maya's photos covering every inch of wall space—from chubby-cheeked toddler to the beautiful seventeen-year-old she'd become.
Sarah pulled out an onion, starting dinner on autopilot.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
The onion's sting brought tears to her eyes, but these weren't from the vegetable. They were from seventeen years of love, trust, and partnership being thrown away for a twenty-five-year-old with perfect hair and ambitious eyes.
Clatter.
The knife hit the floor.
Sarah collapsed right there on the kitchen tiles, finally letting the sobs come. All those years of being the perfect wife, the supportive partner, the woman behind the successful man—and for what?
"Mom?" Maya's voice broke through Sarah's moment of despair.
Sarah heard her daughter's backpack hit the floor before Maya rushed to her.
"Mom, what happened? Did someone hurt you?"
Maya knelt beside her mother, her arms wrapping around Sarah's shoulders. When had her little girl become so strong?
"Your father..." Sarah choked out the words. "He wants a divorce, honey. I'm so sorry you have to see me like this."
"Don't apologize, Mom." Maya's voice carried a strength that amazed Sarah. "This isn't your fault."
By seven o'clock, Sarah had pulled herself together enough to set the dining table. The familiar routine of placing forks and folding napkins seemed to calm her, but Maya could see the tremor in her mother's hands.
Then Maya heard her father's car in the driveway.
And another car door slam.
The front door opened, and Tom walked in like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. Behind him strutted a blonde woman in a power suit that screamed "I'm important and you're not."
Ashley.
She looked around their house like she was already redecorating in her head, her smile so fake it could've been plastic.
"Maya, this is Ashley," Tom announced like he was introducing a new business partner. "We wanted to officially tell you that your mother and I are getting divorced. Ashley will be moving in. We think it's better for you to stay here, where you're comfortable."
Ashley stepped forward with that saccharine smile. "This is better for everyone, Maya. We'll be one happy family."
Maya watched her mother's face crumble for just a second before Sarah found her voice.
"Maya comes with me. That's all I want."
Tom and Ashley exchanged a look—the kind of look that made Maya's skin crawl.
"Sarah, you need time to adjust to your new life," Ashley cooed. "Maya will be more stable here with—"
"Stop," Maya said.
Every head turned toward her.
The rage that had been building since her father dropped his bombshell finally found its voice.
"Mom, you don't want me." Maya kept her voice level, analytical.
She turned to her father, channeling every bit of steel she'd inherited from both sides of her family. "Dad, we need to talk about Mom's settlement. Properly."
Tom frowned. "Maya, these aren't things you need to worry about—"
"No." Maya cut him off. "This is exactly what I need to worry about."
The look in Ashley's eyes shifted from condescending to wary.
Good. She should be worried.
By ten PM, Maya was alone in her room, surrounded by the pink and white decorations that suddenly felt too young for what she was about to do.
Her laptop sat open on her desk, next to notebooks filled with research she'd been quietly gathering for weeks.
She'd seen this coming long before her mother did.
Maya opened TikTok and hit record, plastering on her brightest smile.
"Hey guys! Working on a school project about local businesses and public records. Amazing what you can find when you know where to look!"
She paused for effect, letting her smile turn just a little sharper.
"Stay tuned for updates! #ResearchSkills #KnowledgeIsPower"
Post.
The comments started flooding in immediately:
[Maya's about to expose someone!]
[Queen is plotting something!]
[Can't wait to see what you find!]
Her followers knew her well.
Maya closed the laptop and walked to her window.
Across the yard, she could see the glow from her father's bedroom—Ashley's bedroom now. Ashley probably thought she had won, that she had successfully dismantled their family without consequences.
"Game on, Dad," Maya whispered to the night.