I Divorced My Husband After Prison Release

Mina Long looked up just as John, the eldest Castillo son, walked in and locked eyes with her. Dressed head to toe in sleek black, his sharp features matched the smile on his face as he casually dropped into a chair at the table. Then he shot her a dismissive look, his brows knitting. “Why is she here?”

Mina pressed her lips into a thin line and said nothing. She knew exactly how John felt about her.

Malani Castillo, on the other hand, practically bounced over to him and looped her arm through his. “It’s Dad’s birthday, so of course she’s here. I was starving and couldn’t wait, so I already started eating. You’re not mad, are you?”

Despite his usual stern demeanor, John let out a low chuckle and tapped her nose playfully. The easy familiarity between them made Mina’s chest ache. There’d been a time when she’d admired her brother more than anyone.

John was young and accomplished—the driving force behind the family’s business. Yet he had always kept Mina at a distance. She used to think that was just his nature, until Malani came along and revealed the warmth he reserved only for his biological sister.

Mina let out a bitter laugh. Blood really was thicker than water.

Across the table, their mother, Grace, offered Malani a dinner roll, her tone gentle. “Malani, how’s the prep for the dance competition coming along? Feeling confident?”

Dance. The word pricked at Mina’s heart like a tiny thorn.

She knew Malani was entering a dance competition—the same one that had once been Mina’s childhood dream. But that dream was no longer within reach.

Malani laughed, sliding Mina a sideways glance, and answered casually, “I’ve prepared pretty well, but there are still a few tricky parts.”

She placed a piece of steak onto Mina’s plate with a smile. “Mina, could you give me some pointers? Even if you can’t dance anymore, you still know the technique, right?”

Mina looked down at the steak on her plate, face blank, and scraped it into the trash. “I’m allergic to beef,” she said coolly. “I can’t eat it.”

They all knew that. But no one seemed to care.

As a child, she’d once gotten violently ill after eating beef—hives, a raging fever, an emergency trip to the hospital. Her mother had cried and held her through the night. Yet at the next meal, beef was served again. Her mother insisted Mina just needed to build up a resistance.

When Malani returned to the family, her love for beef took over every meal, and Mina hadn’t had a proper dinner since.

John’s face darkened. He slammed a palm against the table, scowling. “Did all those years of raising you go to waste? If you can’t eat it, just leave it on your plate. Who exactly are you giving attitude to?”

Mina opened her mouth to defend herself, but the words wouldn’t come. They ignored her out of habit, treated her like she was invisible. And now, the moment she pushed back, they were furious.

Enough is enough, Mina thought. She had less than three months left before she could return to her real home with the Gibson family. At least they were her biological family.

“I’m sure Mina didn’t mean it,” Malani chimed in, pouring Mina a cup of coffee. “She might be upset about the competition since she can’t participate anymore.”

The challenge in her bright smile was unmistakable. “You wouldn’t be mad at me, right?”

Coffee was another thing Mina couldn’t have. Her mind reeled at the absurdity of it. “Why would I be mad? I won an award in that competition when I first started dancing,” she retorted, sarcasm lacing every word.

If not for her sacrifices for this family—if not for her ruined legs—would Malani even stand a chance on that stage?

Grace scoffed dismissively. “Don’t mind her. How could she ever compare to you?”

“Yeah, Malani’s the best dancer,” Vincenzo chimed in, smiling. “My mom’s just a housewife. I’ve never even seen her dance.”

His eyes turned to his grandfather, full of curiosity. “Grandpa, was she really good?”

“It was just luck and youth back then,” their grandfather replied, patting the boy’s head. “Nothing compared to Malani now.”

Mina’s fingers clenched tightly, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to nearly draw blood. The sacrifices she’d made—the countless ruined dance shoes, the bloodied toes—none of it mattered. Her achievements had been dismissed as mere luck.

Her gaze grew cold as it swept through her family. “If I were so lucky, I wouldn’t have lost the use of my legs,” she said lightly, turning to Hunter Perry. “Wouldn’t you agree, Hunter?”

A flicker of discomfort flashed in Hunter’s eyes. His lips tightened, his expression hardening. He frowned, dissatisfied. “Mina, you’re being too sensitive. Malani just wants your guidance. We couldn’t have predicted what happened.”

Mina almost laughed at his hypocrisy. The Castillo family was like a devouring beast, and every moment in their presence made her sick.

She pushed herself up from the table. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Grace’s face twisted in anger. “Have you grown bold? Daring to show us attitude after all we’ve done for you?”

Malani added, “Mina, I didn’t mean anything by it. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all just got along? You’re still the same as before! Even before you went to jail, when you pushed me into the lake, I didn’t tell Mom. I thought you’d change after three months inside.”

Mina frowned. They had hardly ever interacted alone before her imprisonment.

“When did I ever push you?” she asked icily, only to be cut off by Hunter.

“Enough!”

Hunter’s stern gaze was unreadable as he set down his fork with a sharp clang. “Mina, apologize to Mother and Malani.”

Mina felt suffocated. She pressed her lips into a thin line and refused to speak.

“It’s your fault,” Vincenzo chimed in. “You’re just a wicked witch. You’re not fit to be my mom.”

Silence fell over the dining room.

Mina surveyed them, her anger dissolving into a cold laugh. “Why should I?”

She shoved her chair back, tossed her utensils onto the floor, and stormed out. Her mother began yelling behind her as chaos erupted, but Mina felt a rush of satisfaction.

Years in the Castillo household, treading on eggshells to please them, had led her here. And her husband and son—the ones she shared a life and a home with—wouldn’t even take her side.

This was a family she should have left long ago.

She flung open the front door and stepped into the cold breeze, feeling unburdened. From behind, hurried footsteps approached, and a hand grasped her wrist firmly—