Chapter 1

My husband made six hundred thousand dollars a year, but he sent every last cent straight to his family.

After seeing I only had 2 dollars left in my account, I calmly agreed to the company's plan to send me to Germonia for a five-month business trip.

Before boarding the plane, I blocked his whole family.

By the fourth day after I landed, he had tried calling me 89 times, switching numbers again and again.

His last text was almost desperate: [Honey, Mom's in the hospital. You need to come back! The card for the surgery is with you!]

Looking at my phone, I couldn't help but smile. That card? I canceled it before I even left the country.

*****

At four in the afternoon in Berlonia, sunlight sliced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, scattering bright spots across the floor of my new apartment.

The air was filled with the rich scent of freshly ground coffee. Barefoot on the warm wooden floor, I cradled my cup and went through a work email.

Everything was so quiet, it was almost unreal.

This kind of peace was a rare luxury, a prize I'd bought with eight years of marriage.

My phone buzzed relentlessly on the table, its screen lighting up over and over with unknown numbers from all over back home.

There were 89 missed calls.

I swiped away the notifications; I didn't even feel the urge to check who was calling.

My fingers brushed the warm cup as I gazed out the window, my mind drifting back to a similarly sunny afternoon a month ago.

That day, I wanted to book an annual health checkup for my parents, trying to make up for years of neglected filial duty.

But when I got to the payment screen, a red warning box popped up, like a loud slap right across my face.

It said, "Insufficient funds."

I froze, thinking maybe the bank system had glitched.

David Grant and I had been married for eight years. He was a senior executive in finance, pulling in six hundred thousand dollars a year after taxes. I was a senior engineer at a Germonia company, making close to three hundred thousand dollars a year.

How could something like "insufficient funds" ever have anything to do with us?

I drove to the nearest bank and asked for a printout of the past year's transactions on our joint account.

When the teller handed me a thick stack of A4 paper, still warm from the printer, my heart sank with every page.

The transaction records stretched on for dozens of pages, packed with details that made my blood run cold.

Every single transaction was made out to the same name: Linda Grant, my mother-in-law.

Every now and then, Peter Grant's name would show up, David's younger brother, my brother-in-law.

The amounts ranged from a few thousand to hundreds of thousands of dollars, with memos like "living expenses," "renovation costs," "brother's new car," "nephew's tutoring fees."

The last transfer was just three days ago, for 100,000 dollars.

After that, the account balance was sitting at exactly 2 dollars.

That bright red number was like a huge taunt, burning into my eyes.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold onto the stack of papers. On the drive home, my mind went completely blank. All I could feel was my heart being squeezed by an invisible hand, leaving me breathless.

When David got home, I was sitting on the couch, spreading out those dozens of pages all over the coffee table.

When he saw the scene, his face flashed with a hint of awkwardness, but he quickly slipped back into his usual calm, acting like everything was perfectly normal.

He didn't even wait for me to speak before jumping in, "Oh, that? Peter was looking to get a nicer car, and Mom called saying she was short on cash, so I just wired the money over. We're all family. No need to be so particular about it."

"Family?" I looked up at him, my voice so calm it even scared me. "David, do you really see us as a family?

"What is this marriage to you, anyway? Just a lifeline for your family back home, or an ATM you can tap whenever you feel like it?"

He frowned, that familiar impatience and guilt-tripping tone creeping in. "Why are you bringing this up again? Do you know how much my mom sacrificed to raise me? Peter's my only brother. If I don't help him, who will? Can't you just try to understand?"

Try to understand.

Those words again.

Eight years of marriage, and I'd been whittled down from a fierce, independent woman into their idea of a "sensible" wife, thanks to David and his entire family.

They used the chains of "filial duty" to keep David tightly bound, and through him, they sank countless leeches deep into my flesh.

Every time Linda got sick, every time Peter's business flopped, every time David' s sister Sophia Grant had a breakup, the answer was always to drain our savings.

And if I ever dared to complain, I'd get slapped with labels like "unfilial," "selfish," or "outsider."

David was always saying, "Can't you just do this for me? If you just let it go, things will be fine at home."

I did. I kept my mouth shut and went along with it, hoping it would buy some peace at home, maybe even a little understanding from my husband.

But all I got in return was 2 dollars left in the account.

And that throwaway line, "We're all family."

At that moment, I stared at the man I'd loved for ten whole years, and my heart felt completely numb.

There was nothing more painful than when one's heart just stopped caring.

I knew this marriage, this lonely show, was finally over for me.

Right then, the company headquarters announced a five-month assignment in Germonia, one that was a perfect match for my skills and experience.

I didn't hesitate for a second. I submitted my application right away.

The Germonia company was super efficient; my application got the green light in just a week.

When I handed David the assignment letter, he actually let out a sigh of relief. "Go ahead, go. It'll be good for you to get away for a while, so you don't have to stress about stuff at home. Don't worry, I've got things covered here."

He figured I was just blowing off some steam, needing a break from all the drama.

What he didn't realize was, I was staging my own grand jailbreak, finally walking free and taking back my life.

Those days, as I packed my bags, I felt so detached, like I was just sorting out someone else's business.

I boxed up every last thing that reminded me of him and dumped it all in the neighborhood recycling bin.

I took down our wedding photo from above the bed, the whole thing, frame included, and tossed it out.

Even the first gift he ever gave me, that cheap necklace I once thought was precious, got chucked in the trash without a second thought.

Letting go wasn't just about tossing out old things; it was about finally breaking free from all those years I'd been drained dry, worn down, and made invisible.

Before heading to the airport, I deliberately detoured to the bank.

The last transaction I handled there was closing out the account.

The one I shut down was that so-called "family emergency" joint secondary card my mother-in-law, Linda, always talked about.

She kept insisting it held life-saving money, just in case disaster struck.

But I knew it was nothing more than another prop she used to manipulate me with guilt.

Sitting in the airport lounge, I pulled out my phone, took a deep breath, and blocked every single one of them, David, Linda, my father-in-law Richard Grant, Peter, Sophia, every last one of them, on both WhatsApp and my phone.

After I was done, I looked out at the plane about to take off, and for the first time in ages, I felt truly free.

This wasn't running away.

This was the new life I'd been planning for so long.