I wasn't Invited to My Husband's Wedding

“I want to file for divorce.” The words had been stuck in my throat for years—until that night. I had cooked his favorite meal, worn a dress he once loved, and dared to ask about the trip he promised me decades ago. “Paris?” he scoffed, eyes glued to his laptop. “You’re not that young anymore.” “Twenty years ago, you said that one day, when things got better, we’d go. We’d celebrate properly. I just… want to enjoy something after taking care of you, the kids, and this house—” “Oh, so we tired you out?” he snapped. “Don’t make it sound like I forced you into this. You just stay home. What’s so hard about your job? Why don’t you be more like your sister Camille? Unmarried, independent, smart—she earned her own money and her place in the world. She can travel wherever she wants and doesn’t burden anyone.” He shut me out. Worse still, I accidentally saw an email—a wedding confirmation. His wedding with Camille. In Paris. The guest list? My father, our son, and his wife— My family. Everyone… but me. They hadn’t just excluded me. They had replaced me. That’s when I knew I had to leave. After twenty years of being nothing but convenient, I finally woke up—and chose myself. I booked a one-way ticket to Paris and forgot about them. Only for them to realize my worth when it was too late.