The Cage Wife’s Revenge

Chapter 5

I didn't even notice when Enid woke up.

She slipped off the bed and padded over, her tiny fingers brushing against my cheek.

That's when I realized—my face was soaked with tears.

She wrapped her arms around me, her little voice thick with heartbreak.

"Mama… this is the hundredth time Daddy left us for her."

Her words pierced me.

"I've made up my mind," she said firmly. "We don't need him anymore. Let's leave—just the two of us."

So she knew. She had always known.

And still, she kept forgiving him.

Kept giving him one more chance… until there were no chances left.

I pulled her into my arms, held her tight against my chest. The tears came again—but this time, they mixed with a small, broken smile.

"Okay, baby," I whispered. "Mama's going to take you away."

The next morning, Malissa showed up at my door, all sunshine and sugar, like the night before had never happened.

She beamed at me as if we were girlfriends.

"I'm taking you shopping," she announced, chirpy as ever. "My way of apologizing for not being more… attentive to Enid."

She looped her arm around Milford's like she owned him, then gave him a playful pout.

"Milo, come with us. You'll need to cover the bill. Poor Lori's had such a rough year—we owe her, don't we?"

Malissa slipped into the role of Lady Wright like she was born for it—graceful, smug, effortlessly in control.

And when I didn't respond fast enough, Milford's face tightened.

"Lon," he said, annoyed, "Lisa's trying to be nice. You and Enid upset her so much yesterday, she was in pain all night—couldn't even feed Eddy. And she's still being generous with you. The least you could do is not make it worse."

He must've forgotten the walls in that house were paper-thin.

I'd heard everything the night before—their moans, their breathless laughter, the sound of skin on skin, and whispered promises I wasn't supposed to hear.

The memory turned my stomach, but I forced it down and gave a small nod.

I didn't have the strength to fight. Not yet.

At the mall, Malissa clung to Milford's arm like a badge of victory.

He wore his crisp, custom-tailored suit like a shield.

She floated beside him in a designer dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

They soaked up every compliment, every stare, like royalty.

And me?

I trailed behind them in an old, off-brand dress, the fabric worn thin and tired—much like me.

I saw the way the store clerks looked at me—confused, dismissive, some downright sneering.

I didn't belong in their world, and they made sure I felt it.

Whenever someone asked who I was, Milford would glance back—briefly, awkwardly—and force a smile.

"She's our housemaid. My wife thought she could use something decent to wear."