Six years. Six years of love, loyalty, and quiet sacrifices while I healed from miscarriage after miscarriage. My husband, Kael, was my rock always there, always proving his love with gentle words and steady presence. Until the night, he looked me in the eyes and said: "I never loved you. Not really. I want your younger sister as my second wife." My own family nodded in agreement. They had known. They had always known I was never enough. I stayed silent through the pain, the humiliation, and the wedding I was forced to witness. But when his perfect new life begins to crack and he comes crawling back, begging me to return "for the family's sake," I finally understand: I was never the problem. I was simply the placeholder. Now? I'm choosing me. And they will all watch me rise from the ashes they created.