Chapter 1
My husband, Gavin Bishop, got me a supplementary credit card. He told me the limit was 700 dollars a month.
But at the supermarket checkout, the card was declined.
When I called him, he started screaming at me.
He said, "You actually used it? You're a stay-at-home mom. You don't make any money, but spend it just fine."
I looked at our screaming child and the baby formula in my hand. Suddenly, this whole marriage felt meaningless.
I had been an accomplished dancer once. I'd thought I married for love.
But these ten years had been pure hell.
I filed for divorce. If this were marriage, someone else could have it.
And if anyone wanted this hypocritical loser of a husband, they could have him too.
*****
The cashier swiped my credit card for the fifth time, but it still declined. The people in line behind me were getting impatient, whispering to each other.
My face went red with embarrassment, and I felt my scalp prickle. I ducked my head and quickly called Gavin.
"Hey, hon, didn't you say yesterday you got me a supplementary credit card with a limit of 700 dollars a month. I'm at the store, trying to buy formula, but my payment keeps getting declined," I said.
There was no response, just the sounds of his video game blaring in the background. I called out again, "Hello? Can you hear me?"
This time, Gavin finally answered, sounding annoyed and totally fed up.
He scoffed. "Got you a supplementary credit card? I was just bragging in front of my friends. You actually took that seriously? And you really went out trying to spend it?
"You have no idea how much anything costs. You're a stay-at-home mom. You don't make any money, but spend it just fine."
He kept ranting, his voice so loud that everyone in line went silent, all ears for the drama.
My face was burning. I didn't want to argue, so I just snapped a pic of the formula's price tag, told him to hurry up and send the money, then hung up.
I waited, clutching my phone, until finally that payment notification popped up.
I checked the amount—104.3 dollars.
Not a cent more, not a cent less. Just the exact price of the formula I'd shown him.
Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Inside, I felt like I'd swallowed something hard and sour, something so bitter that I could barely get it down.
I paid in a hurry, and my account balance was back down to under 30 dollars. After ten years of marriage, that was the only money I ever got to spend on myself.
When I got home, Gavin was sprawled at one end of the couch with a cigarette dangling from his lips, while his mom, Jocelyn Bishop, slumped at the other.
The sounds of short videos and video games were blaring nonstop from their phones.
Meanwhile, my one-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Sharon Bishop, was barefoot, crawling all over the floor. She picked up a still-lit cigarette butt and tried to shove it in her mouth.
I yelled out and lunged forward, snatching it from her just in time.
That finally made both Gavin and Jocelyn look up from the couch.
Gavin clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"It's just a cigarette butt. What's the big deal? Everyone says dancers are supposed to be graceful, but I don't see any of that in you. Just look at yourself—ugly and fat now. A real mess," he sneered.
"When are you making dinner? Do I have to keep reminding you?" he snapped.
There was a lump of rage stuck in my chest, but when I opened my mouth, I was just too tired to argue.
Not even 20 minutes had passed before Gavin barged into the kitchen for the third time, barking at me to hurry up.
"What's taking so long with dinner? Hurry up. Sharon's been bawling, and even Mom can't get her to quiet down," he snapped.
I bit back my anger, slapped the last dish onto a plate, wiped my hands on my apron, and rushed off to the bedroom.
There, next to the bed, Jocelyn was jamming the bottle into Sharon's mouth, her face full of irritation.
Jocelyn was holding the bottle at a bad angle, so Sharon started choking, her face turning beet red as she twisted away, coughing and bawling. Jocelyn got even more pissed and started yelling.
"Useless little thing. All you do is cry. You've drained all the good luck from this family," she barked.
I rushed over, scooped Sharon up, patting her back to help her catch her breath, while shooting Jocelyn a cold glare.
"Who are you calling useless? Say that again. I dare you," I shot back.
She pulled her hand back, muttering under her breath as she headed for the living room.
I finally picked up the bottle Jocelyn had prepared. It felt cold in my hand.
She'd used cold water to make the formula. Again. I'd fought with her over this countless times.
At first, Gavin would mumble a word or two to Jocelyn, but after a while, he just acted like he didn't hear anything and slipped away, leaving me and her to fight it out.
The anger inside me burned even hotter. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, then got hot water and made a new bottle for Sharon.
By the time I finally got Sharon fed and asleep, half an hour had gone by. I came back out, rubbing my aching back, completely exhausted.
Gavin was sprawled at one end of the couch with a cigarette dangling from his lips, while Jocelyn slumped at the other. The sounds of short videos and video games were blaring nonstop from their phones again.
My stomach ached from hunger.
I rushed to the dining table, only to find the food I'd cooked was picked over and scattered everywhere.
Gavin and Jocelyn hadn't bothered to wait for me. They'd already eaten while I was putting Sharon to sleep.
The dishes were nothing but scraps, all picked over and left in a mess. Of my favorite fried chicken, only the bony wings were left, and someone had tossed used napkins right into the gravy—probably on purpose.
That was the last straw. Before I knew it, I snatched up a plate and smashed it onto the floor.
Shards flew everywhere with a sharp crash.
The living room went dead silent.
I slowly looked up and met Gavin's stunned gaze.
He froze, looking like a deer caught in headlights, his fingers shaking uncontrollably.
My voice was steady, almost cold.
"Gavin, we're done. I want a divorce," I said.