You are the problem

After saying goodnight and parting ways with Freya, Tessy returned to her house, her steps slightly unsteady from the wine she had indulged in at the restaurant. The cool night air brushed against her cheeks, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the garden. Her mind buzzed with Freya's words, replaying their conversation like a broken record, and a small, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips.

Stepping inside, the soft glow of the hallway light greeted her, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. She kicked off her heels and padded into the sitting room, only to freeze at the unexpected sight before her. Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Smith Brown, sat rigidly on the plush sofa, her sharp eyes glued to the flickering TV screen. The room was eerily quiet, save for the low hum of the television.

"Mrs. Smith, you're here," Tessy greeted, her voice warm but laced with surprise. She forced a smile, though her heart skipped a beat. "I didn't know you were coming. How was your trip?"

The older woman didn't so much as glance in Tessy's direction. Her lips remained pressed into a thin line, her expression cold and unyielding. Tessy had always known her mother-in-law disliked her—no, despised her—but she had learned to brush it off, to keep her composure. Tonight, however, the woman's icy demeanor felt heavier, more foreboding.

Undeterred, Tessy tried again, her tone softer this time. "Is everything okay, Mrs. Smith?"

For a moment, the only sound was the faint murmur of the TV. Then, Mrs. Smith Brown finally turned her head, her piercing gaze slicing through Tessy like a knife. "I don't need your small talk. I'm watching something important," she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain.

Tessy's smile faltered, but she nodded. "Oh, okay. Enjoy your show, Ma'am," she murmured, retreating toward the staircase.

As she reached the foot of the stairs, her eyes caught sight of something that made her brows knit together. Her luggage—packed and piled at the foot of the steps—sat like a silent accusation. Her suitcase, her bags, even her favorite throw blanket were all stacked haphazardly, as if someone had hurriedly tossed them there.

Confusion and dread washed over her. She turned back to Mrs. Smith. "Why are my things here? Did something happen?"

Mrs. Smith let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes still fixed on the TV. "You've been kicked out of the master bedroom. You're supposed to move your things to the guest bedroom downstairs," she stated matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather.

Tessy's heart skipped a beat. "What? Why? What's going on?" she demanded, her voice rising in panic.

Finally, Mrs. Smith Brown tore her gaze from the screen, her expression cold and unfeeling. "Francis has decided to make some overdue changes. You should follow his rules as you are supposed to. No need for drama. Do as he has said. Move to the guest bedroom."

Disbelief etched across Tessy's face, her mind struggling to process the words. "What?! Just... like that? How can he do that randomly without discussing anything with me?"

Mrs. Smith remained stoic, her tone icy. "That's not my concern. He should have done it a long time ago. I wonder why he had to wait until now."

Anger and hurt surged through Tessy, propelling her up the stairs. She stormed down the hallway, her fists clenched, determined to confront Francis and demand an explanation. She flung open the bedroom door, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight that greeted her.

Francis, her husband, lay tangled in their matrimonial bed with Rachel, his supposed ex-girlfriend from college. The sheets were rumpled, their clothes scattered across the floor, and the room reeked of betrayal. The sound of the door opening made them freeze, their heads snapping toward her in unison.

In all their years of marriage, Francis had never brought a woman home. He had flaunted his affairs outside, yes, but he had always kept them away from their shared space. That unspoken boundary had been the one thing Tessy had clung to, the one shred of dignity she had left. But now, even that was gone.

"Francis, what is the meaning of this?" Tessy's voice trembled as she demanded, her chest heaving with a mix of rage and heartbreak.

Caught in the act, Francis didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. Instead, his brows furrowed in annoyance, as if she were the one intruding. "Are you sick in the head? Why would you barge into my room like that without knocking?" he barked, his tone dripping with contempt.

"Your room? This is our room," Tessy corrected, her voice shaking. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of his words. Their room—the same room they had shared for three years, the same bed where she had lain awake countless nights, waiting for him to come home.

Her gaze shifted to Rachel, who had draped the sheet around herself, her expression calm and unbothered. There wasn't a trace of guilt on her face—only a faint smirk, as if she found the whole situation amusing. She leaned back against the headboard, her eyes flicking over Tessy with a look of pity before she turned away, as if Tessy were nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Am I to believe that you were too blind to see your things downstairs? This room now belongs to me and Rachel. If you still want to remain here and remain married, then you should never come into my room without knocking. Now, get out," Francis spat, pointing at the door with a finality that made Tessy's blood run cold.

Before she could react, a hand grabbed the back of her shirt, yanking her backward with such force that she stumbled out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her, and she turned to see Mrs. Smith standing there, her face twisted with fury.

"Mrs. Smith—" Tessy began, her voice trembling, but the older woman cut her off with a venomous glare.

"Shut up. I always knew you were stubborn but was only pretending. After telling you that you've been kicked out, you still had the nerve to come here and disturb my son with his new wife."

"New wife?" Tessy echoed, her voice barely a whisper. The words felt like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless.

"Yes. New wife since the old one is so useless and can't produce a child even though her entire family feeds off this household like pests," Mrs. Smith Brown sneered, her voice dripping with malice.

Tessy's tears spilled over, her vision blurring as she stared at the woman who had always despised her. "How is it my fault that I haven't had a child? You know what your son does, and yet you blame me? What kind of a mother are you?" she cried, her voice breaking.

"The kind who wants the best for her son," Mrs. Smith Brown shot back, her eyes blazing. "What man would reject a good and useful woman? It's because you are as useless as the K in the pronunciation of knife, that's why a full-blooded man will stay that long without touching you. The problem is not Francis. You are the problem."

The words cut deeper than any knife, shredding the last remnants of Tessy's self-worth. Her chest tightened, and she felt as though the walls were closing in, suffocating her.

The bedroom door swung open again, and Francis stepped out, followed by Rachel. "That's enough, Mom. Let her be," he said, his tone dismissive.

"Yes, Mom. She looks terrible already," Rachel chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy as she eyed Tessy with a smirk.

"No. She has to apologize to you, or I'm calling the lawyer right now," Mrs. Smith Brown declared, her voice sharp and unyielding.

"Apologize for what? What did I do wrong?" Tessy asked, her voice rising in incredulity. The tears streamed down her face, but she refused to look away.

"For disrespecting my son and me," Mrs. Smith Brown replied, her tone cold and final.

Tessy let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and broken. "The only person who was disrespected here tonight is me. Apologize? My foot," she spat, her voice trembling with anger. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heart heavy but her resolve unshaken.

Behind her, Mrs. Smith Brown pulled out her phone, her fingers tapping furiously on the screen. "Prepare the documents," she barked into the phone, her voice echoing down the hallway.