I woke up tired, my pregnancy making me ache. But the real weight was the tension in our house. My husband, Jake, was up, moving restlessly.
“Sleeping in?” His voice was sharp, no softness. I sat up slowly. “I didn’t sleep much,” I said, touching my belly.
“Do something useful, maybe you’d rest,” he said coldly. I swallowed, hiding my pain. Jake wasn’t the man I married.
I thought he was kind, strong, loving. But his true self showed after we wed—controlling, dismissive, cruel.
Once he had my house and my job, he dropped the act. I’d signed everything to him, trusting him fully.
“Breakfast?” I asked, hoping to calm him. He scrolled his phone. “If it’s decent,” he said, not looking up.
I went to the kitchen, starting toast. This was my life—serving a man who didn’t care, in a house I’d lost.
I’d been foolish, giving Jake the house, thinking it was for us. Now, I had nothing but regret.
“Is the toast burnt?” Jake said behind me. “You always mess up.” I stayed silent, my chest tight.
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ll grab food out.” He took his keys. “Clean this place. It’s a disaster.”
The door slammed. Tears fell. I couldn’t live like this. I grabbed my bag and walked to the store.
At the grocery store, I felt lost. I carried a small bag, walking through the parking lot as the evening cooled.
Then I saw her—a woman with a cart of old blankets. A sign said, “Homeless and Hungry.” I stopped, curious.
She didn’t look broken. Her hair was neat, her clothes worn but tidy. Her eyes held a quiet strength.
I went back. “Need help?” I asked. She smiled. “That’s a big question,” she said, her voice warm.
I smiled. “Food? Water?” She shook her head. “I just need time to start over,” she said, sounding sure.
I knelt beside her. “What happened?” I asked. She sighed. “My son kicked me out. I was too much for him.”
“Your son?” I asked, shocked. “He didn’t want me,” she said. Her words echoed my own pain.
“I get it,” I said. She looked at me. “Husband?” I nodded. “That obvious?” She smiled. “You look heavy-hearted.”
I shared my story—my controlling marriage, my lost home. “I’m Ellen,” she said. “I’m Ava,” I replied.
“Do you have a place?” I asked. She shook her head. “Come with me,” I said. She paused. “Your husband?”
“I’ll handle it,” I said, unsure but firm. I brought Ellen home. She showered, and I gave her clothes.
She looked new, alive. “You didn’t have to,” she said. “I wanted to,” I said, feeling good for once.
“When’s someone been kind to you?” she asked. I had no answer. She laughed. “Been a while, huh?”
We sat with coffee, the house peaceful. I felt calm. Then the door crashed open. Jake was home.
He saw Ellen and froze. “Who’s this?” he growled. Ellen looked up. Jake’s face changed. “Mom?” he said.
I was stunned. Jake’s shock became anger. “She’s a homeless nobody!” he shouted. “Get her out!”
Ellen stayed steady. “That’s how you see me?” Jake yelled, “You left me. You’re not my mom!”
Ellen laughed. “Left? You threw me out, Jake.” He glared. “You chose your career over me!”
“I wanted my own life,” Ellen said. “Not to obey you and your dad. You wanted control, not a mom.”
“You failed us,” Jake said. “I refused to raise a son who owns women,” Ellen said, unshaken.
Jake turned to me. “Ava, why bring her here? This is my house!” I stood tall. “Our house,” I said.
He laughed. “Mine. I own it. Get out—both of you.” His words hurt, but I was done being small.
I dropped my key on the floor. “Keep it,” I said. “You’ve lost your family.” I felt lighter, free.
I grabbed my coat and money. Ellen and I stepped into the cold. “Where now?” I asked, nervous.
Ellen led me to a sleek black car. She clicked a key, and it lit up. I stopped. “Is that stolen?” I asked.
She laughed. “It’s mine,” she said. I blinked. “You were homeless,” I said. “I was, once,” she said.
“I own a business now,” she said. “I pretended to test you and Jake.” We drove to a grand house.
“Whose house?” I asked. “Mine,” she said, parking. “Why the test?” I asked. “I saw you’re pregnant,” she said.
“I needed to know if you were kind, if Jake was cruel,” she said. “Now what?” I asked, teary. “I’ll help you,” she said.
Weeks later, I lived with Ellen, free from Jake. Then the doorbell rang. Jake stood there, looking worn.
“I messed up,” he said. “I want to change.” Ellen scoffed. “Change?” Jake looked down. “I hurt you both.”
“Prove it,” I said. “Get therapy. Help the homeless you rejected.” He nodded. “For our baby.”
Maybe he’d try, maybe not. But my life was mine, and I was ready for my future with my child.
