Chapter 3 SANDRA

SANDRA

My life has been a mixture of sorrow and joy. At some point, tears stopped being a reaction-they became routine. Even with the settlement money I received after divorcing Andre, I thought I could finally move on. That money, to me, was more than compensation-it was my escape. My first step toward freedom. Toward building my own business and becoming my own boss. Toward helping my family in every way I could.

But before any of that could happen, I faced challenges-deep, painful ones that almost swallowed me whole. Depression crept in like a storm cloud, heavy and relentless.

After the divorce was finalized, things took a dark turn. The internet erupted with backlash. I was labeled a "gold digger." Even my former coworkers from the diner would call, pretending to care but really just fishing for gossip. Strangers threw eggs at my house. Someone even spray-painted "gold digger" across my car. It became too much to bear.

Then, my parents' business collapsed. As unbelievable as it sounds, they were evicted from their rented apartment by a landlord who didn't want to be associated with "the parents of a gold digger." They were insulted and ostracized-because of me. I had no choice but to bring them into my penthouse. I wanted them safe. Or so I thought. They insisted they were a burden, but I assured them they never would be. In fact, I needed them more than they knew.

But I had it worse. I lost my self-esteem. I couldn't step outside without being ambushed by reporters desperate to get information about my ex-husband. People mocked me in public, laughed at me in grocery stores. I became a meme. Eventually, I stopped going out altogether.

My parents and my sister, Sarah, supported that decision. They took over errands, and we began spending more time together-sharing meals, dreaming about the future, figuring out how we'd all bounce back once the media storm passed.

I even tried to reach out to Andre, hoping-foolishly-that he'd help clear up the misunderstanding. I missed him. I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd use his connections to make it stop. But he never returned my calls.

I remembered the early days of our marriage. It was never romantic. Why would it be? He'd made it clear from the start-it was a contract marriage. I was to bear him a child. Love was off the table. I wasn't even allowed to see the baby after giving birth.

I had asked him why he didn't just adopt. Wouldn't that be easier than using someone as a surrogate wife? But no. He claimed he needed a wife. Someone to parade around. And I needed money. It was a deal. A win-win.

The first allowance I received, I used to pay off my parents' debts. When they asked where I got the money, I told them I got married. I didn't share the details. They were angry and confused-until Andre went public with the marriage. Only then did they believe me.

They tried to visit, but Andre's mother-Victoria-wouldn't allow it. I used to think stories of wicked mothers-in-law were exaggerated, but Victoria proved otherwise. She never liked me. Constantly reminded me I wasn't "in her son's league."

I once overheard her confronting Andre about me. She called me a "common waitress." It stung. I tried to ignore it, but she was relentless. At every fundraiser, while Andre introduced me to business partners, she introduced him to high-status women-and he let her.

I endured it in silence. Who could I confide in? I was bound by a contract. Forced to play the perfect wife.

Eventually, it was time to fulfill my part of the bargain-to give him an heir. I still remember that night.

"It's time, Sandra," he said. "We need to consummate the marriage. The sooner we have an heir, the better."

"I'm scared," I admitted. It was my first time.

"You shouldn't be. I won't hurt you," he said, stepping closer.

"But-" I started, but he kissed me before I could finish.

That kiss may have meant nothing to him, but it meant everything to me. It stirred something in me I couldn't name. A longing.

"You're crying," he whispered, his face soft with concern.

"I'm fine," I muttered.

"If you don't want to-"

"I want to," I said quickly and kissed him back.

He was surprisingly gentle. Attentive. Caring. The next morning, he was kind-almost affectionate. We began talking more. He'd take me out to dinner. I started hoping, foolishly, that we were building something real. But deep down, I knew I'd broken the rule: I'd fallen for him.

His mother continued to torment me whenever he wasn't around, accusing me of manipulating her son. Calling me names.

After I miscarried, Andre changed. He grew distant. Cold. He left early, came home late. I asked if I could go back to work, just to feel human again. He refused. Said his wife couldn't work in a diner.

I was isolated. The house help was my only company. I was watched by his bodyguards. I couldn't leave the house without his permission.

Two months after the separation, the media lost interest. Finally, I could breathe. But I was also nearing the end of my pregnancy. The stress had taken a toll, but my family ensured I was cared for. They pampered me, kept me smiling, and wouldn't let me overthink.

And in time, I gave birth to twins-a boy and a girl: Liam and Lily. I delivered them via C-section. But shortly after, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression. It took three long months to recover, but with therapy and the unwavering support of my family, I came through.

Liam and Lily-my beautiful children. My heart. Liam looks just like Andre. Confident and outspoken, even as a child. Lily, on the other hand, is my mirror. Gentle. Shy. Sweet.

Eventually, I knew it was time to do something for myself. I opened a bakery. Sarah, being the social media genius she is, helped it go viral. Influencers began traveling just to visit my little shop. I hired staff, catered events, and watched as my life slowly pieced itself back together.

My parents were doing well again, and they visited often. Things were finally looking up.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Liam and Lily ran into the bakery, bright smiles on their faces. They always yelled like that when they came back from school.

I knelt down to hug them tightly, then turned to Sarah, who had picked them up.

"Thanks," I said, sighing with exhaustion.

"You owe me," she teased.

"I know," I smirked. "Free pastries?"

"Deal," she grinned and kissed the twins. "Bye, my loves!"

"Bye, Aunt Sarah!" they shouted in unison. I never get tired of hearing them do that-always perfectly in sync. The magic of twins.

"So, how was school?" I asked as I noticed a small scar on Lily's arm.

"How did you get this?" I asked, concerned.

"I fell," Lily whispered.

"Liar," Liam said quickly. "Our classmate pushed her. Don't worry, Mommy, I pushed him back."

"How hard?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"Enough to bruise him."

I chuckled. "I'm proud of you, but don't do that again, okay? Next time, tell your teacher."

They nodded and rushed to the kitchen for snacks.

And as I stood there, surrounded by the smell of pastries and the laughter of my children, I knew-I had survived. And I was finally living.