Page 54 of The Humiliated Wife

Thank you. Truly. You have no idea what this means.

When she hit send, the weight in her chest hadn’t vanished—but it had shifted. Just slightly. Enough to let her lungs expand.

Outside the classroom window, the sky was still gray. But the light was different. Softer.

The house wasquiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the distant sound of Emma and Milo's muffled conversation through the walls. Fiona sat on the guest bed, knees drawn up, laptop balanced against her thighs.

She'd been staring at the blank post screen for ten minutes.

The anonymous donation email was still open in another tab—she'd read it three times since getting home, still not quite believing it was real. Someone had thought of her. Had seen her classroom, her students, her needs, and decided to help.

She didn't know who. Part of her suspected, but she wasn't ready to examine that too closely.

What mattered was the feeling it had given her: that what she did mattered. That her work was worth supporting. That she wasn't invisible.

Her fingers found the keyboard.

Today someone reminded me that the work we do matters, even when it feels small.

Anonymous kindness is a particular kind of magic. It asks for nothing back. It just says: I see you, and what you're doing is important.

To whoever sent that gift to my classroom—my students will have books and supplies and field trips because of you. You'll probably never see the faces that light up when we can finally afford that science kit, or hear the "thank you" from the kid who gets to keep the book instead of returning it.

But I'll see it. I'll hear it. And I'll remember that kindness multiplies.

She paused, finger hovering over the post button. This felt more personal than her other posts. More specific. More vulnerable.

But vulnerability had been her superpower once. Before someone turned it into a weapon.

Maybe it could be again.

She posted it.

Within minutes, the likes started coming. Not many—her follower count was still small—but steady. Real. And then the comments:

rainydayreader92: Teachers deserve the world.

emmathebest: So proud of you sis

Fiona's throat tightened. These weren't strangers making jokes. These were people who saw her—really saw her—and wanted to lift her up.

She set the laptop aside and curled up under the covers, phone still warm in her hand.

She wasn’t the caricature Dean had created.

Just Fiona. Teacher. Sister. Human being trying to make the world a little kinder.

It wasn’t enough for her husband, but it was enough for her.

CHAPTER 24

Dean

Dean’s phone buzzed.

Emma has posted.

He shouldn't have notifications turned on. He knew he shouldn't. But knowing Fiona was staying with Emma, knowing she was commuting from Sweetwater every day—it felt like drowning slowly, and these little digital breadcrumbs were the only air he could find.