Natasha set down her fork, her hand trembling slightly. She glanced around the room—at the crumpled napkins, the sticky fingerprints on the table, the crushed crumbs trailing from the couch to the hallway. She looked at Lucifer, laughing at something his sister said, utterly unaware of the tears stinging Natasha’s eyes.

With a deep breath, she stood up.

“No,” she said simply.

Silence fell. Even the twins paused mid-giggle.

“What do you mean, *no*?” Victoria blinked.

“I mean,” Natasha said, voice steady now, “this isn’t a restaurant, and I’m not your unpaid maid. I’m tired. Every time you come, you leave behind a mess and take away my peace.”

Lucifer’s mouth opened. “Natasha—”

“*No.*” Her voice rose. “I lost two children in this home. While you all sit here judging my casseroles, you have no idea what it cost me to even stand in this kitchen.”

Victoria’s smile vanished.

“I’ve been more of a servant than a wife in this family,” Natasha continued. “But that ends now. Next Sunday? Find someone else to host.”

She untied her apron and laid it gently on the table.

Then she walked out—head high, back straight—and shut the bedroom door behind her.

**Moral?** Never mistake a quiet woman for a weak one. Even silence has a breaking point.