“EVERY Sunday?” Natasha repeated, blinking.

The room fell quiet for a split second, just long enough for the ticking wall clock to remind her how loud silence could be.

Victoria smiled as if she’d handed Natasha a compliment. “Yes, dear! It’ll become a tradition. Family should spend time together.”

Natasha glanced at Lucifer, hoping for a lifeline. He just nodded, avoiding eye contact. That was his specialty—sidestepping conflict by standing still.

“I’ll… think about it,” Natasha replied, picking up a dirty fork. Her hands trembled slightly as she carried it to the sink.

**

That night, after everyone had finally left and the house resembled a crime scene, Natasha sat on the edge of the couch, staring at a jelly stain on the carpet.

Lucifer walked in, rubbing his belly. “That went well, didn’t it?”

Natasha didn’t respond. She was too tired for sarcasm.

“You didn’t even say thank you,” she muttered.

“What?” he frowned.

“I cleaned, cooked, entertained, and held my tongue while they insulted me in my own home. Again.” Her voice was low, but her words sharp.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, they didn’t insult you. That’s just how Mom talks. You’re too sensitive.”

“No. I’m exhausted. I’ve tried to make everyone happy for years. When will someone ask if I’m happy?”

Silence.

Lucifer opened his mouth, but said nothing. Then he left the room.

**

The next Sunday, Natasha didn’t wake up early to clean. She didn’t go grocery shopping or check on the cake in the oven. Instead, she took a long, hot shower, got dressed, and walked out the door.

Lucifer blinked at her from the kitchen. “Where are you going?”

“To find out what it feels like to be a guest,” she said, grabbing her purse. “I hear they get treated better.”

She didn’t slam the door. She closed it softly, almost kindly.

She went to a café near the river. Ordered a pastry and coffee. Sat at a table by the window and breathed. Deeply.

The café was small, cozy, quiet. A little boy spilled juice, and the waiter simply smiled and cleaned it. No judgment. No sighs. Just patience.

For two hours, Natasha sipped coffee and watched the world. People walked dogs. A couple kissed on a bench. Someone played guitar near the fountain.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt human again.

**

When she got home, Lucifer was pacing in the living room. “Where the hell were you?” he asked, voice raised.

She set her keys down gently. “Out.”

“You left me to deal with everything!”

“Good,” she said. “Now you know how it feels.”

Lucifer stood frozen. “Are you trying to prove a point?”

“No. I’m trying to save myself.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, Lucifer. I’ve been quiet. That was dramatic.”

He scoffed. “You’re my wife. You have responsibilities.”

Natasha’s laugh was soft, but it cut deep. “Then maybe you should’ve married someone who enjoys being invisible.”

He stared at her, genuinely confused. “What do you want?”

That question. The one he never asked until now.

She looked up at him. “I want respect. I want partnership. I want to be heard, not handled. And if you can’t give me that, I’ll start building a life where I do feel seen.”

Lucifer sank onto the couch, rubbing his temples. “So what? You’re leaving?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But I won’t keep living like this.”

**

The next Sunday, Victoria and Katherine showed up again. This time, Natasha greeted them with a smile—but didn’t cook.

“Where’s the food?” Victoria asked, pulling off her gloves.

“We’re ordering takeout today,” Natasha said, handing her a menu. “Pick anything you like.”

Victoria blinked. “You’re… not cooking?”

“Nope,” Natasha said, settling onto the couch with a cup of tea. “Decided to take a break.”

“But that’s not very wifely, is it?” Victoria asked with a strained smile.

Natasha shrugged. “Guess I’m a guest today.”

Katherine scoffed. “Lucifer, are you okay with this?”

Lucifer looked from his mother to his wife. Then he took a breath and said, “She deserves a break.”

That shocked everyone. Even Natasha.

She looked at him. He looked back. No sarcasm, no anger—just a little bit of understanding.

Maybe too late. Maybe not. But it was something.

**

The Sundays that followed changed. Slowly. Natasha started setting boundaries. She cooked when she wanted to. The kids learned to take off their shoes. Victoria still made comments, but Lucifer began to push back.

“Let her be, Mom,” he said one day. “She’s doing enough.”

And one day, Natasha cooked not out of obligation—but because she missed it.

She hummed as she stirred the soup. The apartment was still loud, still chaotic—but now, it was on her terms.

Lucifer walked into the kitchen, kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

She looked up. “For what?”

“For staying. For speaking up. For being more than a wife.”

**

MESSAGE:

Sometimes, the biggest act of love is standing up for yourself. Being a partner doesn’t mean becoming invisible. Real love grows where there’s respect, not routine. And you? You deserve to be seen, heard, and valued.

If you felt something while reading this, share it. Maybe someone else out there needs to know they’re not alone. 💬💛

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