Stella remained calm: “Okay. At least I don’t have to feed you and your mother anymore.”
She raised her glass and scanned the festively decorated hall with her eyes. “Now let’s start with the truth.”
The silence was deafening.
Today was her 38th birthday—a milestone that coincided with the submission of the quarterly report, the organization of the catering, and the constant fear that her mother-in-law Eleanor might turn the celebration into a tribunal for her mistakes.
“Stella, why are you running around like crazy?” Eleanor’s voice came like a cold breeze from the kitchen.
“Have you checked the roast beef? It’s probably oversalted like last time.”
Stella took a deep breath. There was no point arguing; Eleanor could find fault with even a ray of sunlight.
Mark, as expected, was lying on the sofa, aimlessly switching the TV. “Could you help?” Stella asked quietly. He growled. “I’m a creative person, remember. I need inspiration, not kitchen work.”
That was what he had been telling himself since his failed startup—a man who had now “found himself” in video games and daytime television, while Stella was responsible for everything: the mortgage, the bills, the groceries, even her sister’s loan.
Despite the stressful daily routine, Stella felt strong. Her grandmother had bequeathed her her apartment and taught her, “Keep your place, little star.” Stella was successful and respected in her career, but at home it was a different reality—a world full of stress, criticism, and unspoken expectations.
Her phone vibrated. Chloe, her best friend, promised support: “Hold on, the cavalry is coming.” Stella’s lips broke into a genuine smile. Today was going to change.
A party had begun, full of friends and colleagues, whose laughter momentarily dispelled the oppressive atmosphere of their apartment. Stella played the role of a happy woman celebrating her life, while Mark, who had not yet shown up, was late. With wilting roses and a mocking kiss on the cheek, he began to build tension as usual.
He walked around her, making sarcastic remarks and looking at her with disgust. Then, after an hour, he suddenly stood up: “I’ve been thinking. I’m done with this. I’m filing for divorce.”
Dead silence. Stella’s friends froze, her mother clutched her napkin. Mark expected a commotion, but Stella didn’t react as expected. No tears, no screaming. Just calm clarity.
She looked him straight in the eye. “Okay,” she said in a calm, firm voice. “Mark says he’s filing for divorce. I won’t stand in his way. On the contrary, I’m ready for it.”
She pulled out a folder of notarized documents: The apartment was now her parents’ property. Mark had no legal claim. She produced a bank statement: Her salary was hers. All the years she had spent supporting him, his mother, and even his sister had ended here.
“I won’t support anyone else. I’ll live for myself. I’ll be happy.”
A genuine smile appeared in her eyes as Chloe handed her a glass of fresh champagne. “To my liberation. To my new life. A life where I’ll be my own mistress.”
The next morning the doorbell rang. Eleanor, furious as a storm, came in. “You ruined him!” she snarled.
Stella sighed, but it was a sigh of finality, not exhaustion. “Come on in. But I don’t think you’re going to like what you’re going to hear now.”
“Do you think you’re happy now?”
“Yes,” Stella answered simply. “For the first time in a long time.”
Eleanor continued her tirade, calling her selfish and demanding that she return to Mark. Stella remained calm. “Is it selfish to want to be happy? To live life on my own terms? Don’t I deserve it?”
Eleanor remained silent, her arsenal of accusations exhausted. Finally, she turned and slammed the door. Stella felt only peace. Another chain had been broken. She was finally free.
