Three Years Too Late for Sorry，Just in Time for My Freedom novel Chapter 20

Chapter 20

It started with a knock at our door on a stormy night, six months after Iris was born.

I was exhausted, still recovering from childbirth, when the pounding began. Enzo rushed to answer, and I heard a woman’s voice-broken, desperate, pleading through her sobs.

“Tazo, please… I have nowhere else to go.”

I wrapped my robe tighter and walked to the hallway. There she was-Cathy, drenched from the rain, mascara streaking down her cheeks, clutching a toddler to

her chest.

“My husband died in the accident,” she whispered. “Tyler and I… we lost everything. The insurance won’t cover the debts. I’m so sorry to bother you, but you’re the only person I trust.”

Even soaked and crying, she was beautiful. The kind of delicate, helpless beauty that made men want to play hero.

Enzo’s face went soft in a way I hadn’t seen since our wedding day. “Jesus, Cathy. Of course. Come in, both of you.”

I should have said something then. Should have asked questions, set boundaries. But I was holding my infant daughter, hormones still wreaking havoc on my emotions, and this woman looked genuinely devastated.

“She can stay in the guest room,” I offered quietly. “Until she gets back on her feet.”

Cathy looked at me with grateful tears. “Thank you so much, Gabrielle. I promise it’s just temporary.”

That was four years ago.

Temporary became permanent so gradually I barely noticed. Cathy’s grief became comfortable dependency. Her gratitude became entitlement. And Enzo’s protective instincts became something that looked suspiciously like devotion.

“Tyler needs a father figure,” became his excuse for everything. Missing Iris’s first steps because he was at Tyler’s soccer game.

When I protested, Enzo’s patience would run thin.

“God, show some compassion.”

The old me might have backed down, apologized, convinced myself I was being selfish. But I’d learned to trust my instincts the hard way.

“What about your own daughter, Enzo? What about your own wife?”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s not a competition.”

Except it was. And I was losing.

Cathy had a gift for making herself indispensable. She’d cook Enzo’s favorite meals-“just as a thank you.” She’d wait up when he worked late with warm tea

and sympathetic ears. She’d laugh at his jokes like he was the funniest man alive.

Meanwhile, I was the wife who complained, who pointed out problems, who asked uncomfortable questions about why our houseguest never seemed to look for apartments or jobs.

‘You’re being paranoid,” Enzo would say. “Cathy’s grateful for our help. That’s all.”

Three weeks ago, something inside me finally snapped. Watching Cathy flutter around Enzo at breakfast, touching his arm, giggling at his mundane comments about the weather, while my daughter sat ignored in her highchair.

“We need to talk,” I’told Enzo later that night.

“About what?”

“About the fact that you have a wife and daughter who barely see you anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“When’s the last time you put Iris to bed?”

le paused, actually thinking about it. The silence stretched uncomfortably long.

Ive been busy with work.”.

‘No, you’ve been busy playing house with Cathy.”

His face darkened. “That’s a disgusting thing to say.”

Is it? Because from where I’m standing, you’re more invested in Tyler’s childhood than your own daughter’s.”

te stayed quiet and didn’t say anything.

but I tried to convince myself that he was different.

mntil today.

ty five year old daughter Iris burst into tears the moment she got home from school.

he cried loudly, saying she would never go back to school again.