Adeline had endured her fair share of careless remarks over the years as a mother, but nothing had pierced her heart like the words that came from her children that night.
“I wish you didn’t exist,” they had shouted, not in whispers, not in passing, but loud, echoing, and painfully ungrateful.
It was not just Florence, her daughter on the edge of adolescence, but Cedric too, her lively five-year-old, who had spoken them.
Each word landed like a hammer blow, splitting her composure.
For years she had been patient, enduring tantrums, messy rooms, slammed doors, and endless whining.
Yet this time, something inside her finally broke.
A quiet, simmering fire had ignited.
Adeline decided she would give them exactly what they had asked for.
People often assumed that being a housewife was simple.
They imagined long afternoons of leisure, sipping tea while the husband worked outside, and the children entertained themselves.
Adeline knew better.
Her days as a stay-at-home mother were relentless.
Chores never ended, meals had to be prepared, lessons had to be taught, and discipline had to be enforced.
Her home was her office, her world, and there were no breaks, no paychecks, no weekends off.
She woke before the sun, preparing lunches and ironing school uniforms.
She brewed coffee for her husband, Bartholomew, coaxed Cedric out of bed, and prepared for the day ahead.
Cedric was energetic, playful, but stubborn, and his morning resistance often left her drained before noon.
Then there was Florence, rolling her eyes, muttering under her breath, a young teenager wielding sarcasm like a weapon.
Her sharp tongue could cut through Adeline’s patience in seconds.
And Bartholomew, though not cruel, seemed to believe that his paycheck excused him from household responsibilities.
That night, as the family sat for dinner, the atmosphere was tense.
Supposedly a time for connection, but more often a battlefield.
Adeline tried to set a cheerful tone.
“How was preschool today, Cedric?” she asked, forcing a smile.
Cedric shrugged. “Okay. But Miss Carter might call you tomorrow.”
Her fork froze midair. “Why would she call me?”
Cedric hesitated. “I… I wanted to pet a dog outside, but Miss Carter said stray dogs could have… uh… rab—”
“Rabies,” Florence interjected dramatically, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, rabies,” Cedric affirmed proudly.
“I didn’t like what she said, so I bit her.”
Adeline’s jaw dropped. “You bit your teacher?”
Cedric nodded. “She said rabies comes from bites. I wanted to show her.”
Florence smirked. “Mom, you’re raising a wild animal.”
“Don’t talk about your brother like that,” Adeline snapped.
She looked to Bartholomew. “Do you have anything to say?”
He barely glanced up. “You’re doing great, love,” he murmured, patting her hand before returning to his meal.
Adeline swallowed her frustration and turned to Florence. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Florence muttered.
“That’s it?” Adeline pressed.
“Oh, I’m staying at Isadora’s tomorrow,” Florence added casually.
The next day brought only more chaos.
Cedric’s room resembled a storm had passed through.
Adeline had to apologize to Miss Carter for the bite, and the school called to report Florence had skipped classes.
By evening, Adeline’s patience had evaporated.
She stood in the hallway, arms crossed.
“Both of you, stop right there. We need to talk.”
Florence groaned. “What now?”
“Cedric, your room looks like a war zone. No video games until it’s clean.”
“That’s not fair!” Cedric protested.
Florence snickered. “Nice one, Cedric.”
Adeline snapped at her. “Don’t laugh. Your school called—you skipped class.”
“It was just once!” Florence shouted.
“You’re grounded for a week. No sleepover at Isadora’s.”
“You can’t do this! I hate you! I wish you didn’t exist!” Florence screamed.
Cedric, encouraged by his sister, shouted, “Yeah, me too!”
Adeline felt the words pierce her chest like knives.
Her throat burned, but she held her composure.
Later, she recounted everything to Bartholomew, seeking comfort.
He shrugged. “Maybe you were too hard on them. They’re just kids.”
“Did you hear what Florence said?” she asked.
“She didn’t mean it,” he replied dismissively.
That was the final straw.
“Fine,” Adeline said coldly. “Then I’ll show you what life is like without me.”
Bartholomew frowned, confused.
She didn’t explain.
That night, while the house slept, she packed her belongings—clothes, books, journals, her morning coffee mug.
She removed photos of herself from the walls and created a small makeshift room in the attic with a mattress, lamp, and blanket.
Hidden cameras in the kitchen and living room allowed her to observe their reactions.
The next morning, Cedric entered the kitchen. “Where’s Mom?”
Florence frowned. “Her stuff’s gone. Even the photos.”
Bartholomew looked uneasy. “I’ll call her.” Her phone was switched off.
“Maybe she’s gone forever,” Cedric whispered.
“Don’t be silly,” Florence said, though her voice shook.
Then she smirked nervously. “Actually… maybe it’s better this way. No nagging.”
Cedric cheered. “That means I can play video games all day!”
Adeline watched from the camera as the chaos unfolded.
Cedric overate pizza despite his lactose intolerance, doubling over in pain by morning.
Bartholomew scrambled to care for him, missing work.
Laundry piled high, dishes crusted, and Florence dragged herself to school with messy hair and an empty lunchbox.
By the third evening, the cracks were undeniable.
“I miss Mom,” Cedric sobbed.
Florence, pale and teary, whispered, “Me too. I—I got my period today and didn’t know what to do. I wanted to call her.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I was so stupid to say I wished she didn’t exist.”
Bartholomew rubbed his temples. “This is what happens when you take someone for granted.”
“Your mother does everything for this family,” he added.
“I’ll clean my room every day,” Cedric promised.
“I’ll never bite anyone again. Just please bring her back.”
“I’ll stop yelling,” Florence choked out.
“I’ll listen. I just want her home.”
Adeline couldn’t resist any longer.
She stepped into the living room, tears streaked her face but her voice steady.
“I hope you’ve learned what life without me feels like.”
The kids gasped, rushing into her arms.
“Mom! You’re back! We’re so sorry!”
Bartholomew stood, voice thick. “I didn’t realize how much you carried until now. Thank you for everything.”
Adeline kissed her children’s foreheads. “I love you. But love means respect. Never forget that.”
That night, Bartholomew helped clean the kitchen for the first time in years.
Cedric tidied his toys without complaint.
Florence sat beside her mother, asking for advice.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was a family that finally understood her worth.
Adeline hadn’t vanished forever.
She had only disappeared long enough to remind them all of one simple truth: mothers are the backbone of a home, and without them, everything falls apart.