Chapter 1
My husband, Donald Smith, gave me 300 bucks to cover our family of five for a whole month.
I stretched it to the 20th before I had to ask for more.
He beat me black and blue. "You got no shame? You eat my food, live under my roof, don't bring in a dime, and still got your hand out?"
The whole family backed him up.
I was done. I packed a bag and left.
Later, Donald called. "Nobody's cleaned the house. Kitchen's a mess."
I sneered, "I'm pulling 7 thousand a month now. Why would I go back to getting my ass kicked for 300 bucks?"
*****
When I got home from work, my phone buzzed with a notification. I'd just received 800 bucks.
It was the payment for cleaning the whole house and cooking for my client, Mandy White.
Right after, Mandy sent me a message: [Emily, thanks for all your hard work today. That grease in the kitchen has been driving me crazy for ages, but you got it spotless in no time.
[My kids are usually super picky eaters, but they gobbled up everything you made today. I was so thrilled. I'll definitely book you again.]
Mandy's praise made me feel all warm inside.
Cleaning and cooking were routine work for me. I'd been doing them at home for nearly ten years without getting paid a single cent, only to face snide remarks and ridicule from my family.
When we got married, Donald looked at me with all that love and promised, "I'll take care of you."
After we got married, I became a full-time housewife, taking care of the whole family: cooking, cleaning, everything.
But as time went on, the way Donald looked at me when he gave me money changed from affection to pure disdain. "I'm the one supporting you."
If I showed even a hint of sadness, he no longer comforted me like he used to. Instead, he'd put me down. "You can't do anything. Who would want you out there? You'd come crawling back, begging me to keep you."
No matter how much I tried to save, every time I asked Donald for money, his parents would just shake their heads and sigh. "Back in our day, we patched things up ourselves and pinched every penny.
"But you? Always running to your husband for cash. Do you think this house is a bank or something?"
After being exposed to their words day in and day out, my son Alex Smith started parroting their tone. "Mom, you're useless. You're a leech on this family, weighing Dad down."
When the 300 bucks ran out, I had to go begging for more.
Donald beat me black and blue. "You got no shame? You eat my food, live under my roof, don't bring in a dime, and still have your hand out?"
Donald's parents, Bella and Peter Smith, sat on the couch, watching me get beaten and scoffing at me.
Alex jumped up, cheering and clapping. "Way to go, Dad. Mom's cooking is terrible anyway. She deserves it."
His laughter was like a dagger to my heart.
I felt utterly hopeless. I walked silently to my room and started packing my bags.
Back then, I was terrified no one would ever want me, so I never had the guts to leave. But this time, I was done putting up with it.
Bella noticed something was off. "She isn't really planning to run away, is she?"
Donald said confidently, "Come on, she wouldn't last a day without me."
Without saying a word, I walked right past them, dragging my suitcase out of that so-called home.
Even after I closed the door, I could still hear Donald's mocking voice. "I bet you she'll come crawling back in three days, humiliated, begging me to take her back."
Three days later, Donald called me, grumbling, "The floors are filthy and the kitchen's covered in dust. No one's cleaning up around here. I'll give you an extra 100 bucks. Now get back here and set things straight."
Thinking back to that heartfelt 800-dollar transfer and Mandy's sincere praise, I couldn't help but feel a sharp sense of irony.
I shot back, "I'm making 7 thousand a month now. Why would I go back and get hit for 300 bucks?"