My name is Sienna. I’m 35, a stay-at-home mom, and for the last fifteen years, I’ve given everything to my family.
My husband, Cameron, runs a mid-sized tech company. He’s spent the last decade climbing the ladder, while I focused on raising our son, Benjamin, now fifteen—sharp, kind, and more perceptive than we give him credit for.
I had him in college. Since then, my life’s rhythm has been shaped by school lunches, dentist appointments, laundry, and love. The kind that’s quiet and constant. The kind you don’t always notice until it’s stretched thin.
Then came Lucy.
She’s Cameron’s assistant. Twenty-seven. Driven. Polished. The kind of woman who commands a room with one confident glance. I didn’t dislike her. But she was always around—late meetings, business trips, after-work drinks.
I wasn’t jealous in the traditional sense. I envied her. She had purpose, movement. A world beyond four walls and a dishwasher. Meanwhile, I was folding towels and wondering when I had stopped being seen.
Still, I stayed quiet. Cameron was a provider. Lucy was just his assistant.
Until she wasn’t.
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