Chapter 2

By the time I got home, it was deep into the night.

The smell of hot pot broth and leftover food hit me the moment I walked in.

I started clearing the wreckage off the dinner table.

Then another wave of stomach pain came, so bad I couldn't stand it.

My hands shook, and a plate slipped and shattered.

A sharp shard sliced open the top of my foot.

Marcus heard it and came running out of the bedroom.

A white shirt on top, nothing but his underwear below.

The first thing I saw was the lipstick mark on his collar.

Then the sickening smell of perfume reached me.

His brow furrowed, his voice impatient.

"You're such a klutz. What kind of mess did you make this time? You know you're a mama's girl who can't even do housework, right?"

Then he saw the cut on my foot, and his voice went soft.

"Where'd you hurt yourself? Let me see."

I pulled away from his reaching hand.

"I'm not a mama's girl."

That was a phrase he'd picked up from Norma.

My whole life, Norma was the only one who ever called me that.

He let out a scoff.

"You're so precious you can hurt yourself just washing dishes. If that's not a mama's girl, what is it?"

"I've been having stomach pain lately, that's why I—"

He cut off my explanation.

"Norma's right. You really should fix that spoiled streak your mother raised in you, or you'll never be able to take care of yourself."

I found it almost funny.

When I first married in, the second I picked up a broom or a mop, Marcus would snatch it away.

The second I put on an apron and stepped into the kitchen, he'd chase me back out.

And now he was blaming me for not being able to take care of myself.

He went back to the room and came out holding a document.

"This is Norma's live-in housekeeper contract. She's your best friend. Just sign it."

His tone wasn't a discussion. It was a notice.

Notifying me to make room for another woman.

How absurd.

I pushed the document away and said, "Marcus, I never agreed to this."

"Leila, stop being difficult. How are you jealous of your own best friend? I'm only doing this so it's easier to take care of you."

I curled the corner of my mouth.

"Easier to take care of me, or easier for the two of you to sleep together?"

Marcus's face went completely dark.

He threw the document in my face.

"Leila! You'd slander your own best friend like this? Do you know this could ruin her good name!"

"Her good name?"

I walked over to the trash can.

I reached in and pulled out an ultra-thin condom, still warm and wet inside.

"Marcus, is this the good name you're talking about? Don't you make yourself sick?"

Marcus's face paled.

But he recovered his composure fast.

"You can't satisfy me, so I'm not even allowed to take care of it myself?"

Take care of it himself, and still need a condom.

Whether it was that clumsy lie.

Or the way they couldn't even be bothered to hide it, dumping the disgusting thing straight into the most obvious trash can in the house.

It all came down to how sure Marcus was that he had me.

He was certain that, back then, I'd married him and moved all that way for him.

Crying, screaming, threatening, even falling out with my own mother.

That I would never leave him.

But he was wrong.

"Marcus, let's get a divorce."

I didn't look at his face. I turned my back and walked toward the study.

He asked, one word at a time, "Just because I want to bring Norma in as a live-in housekeeper?"

I answered, one word at a time, "Just because of that."

Since he'd never understand.

Then the reason didn't matter either.

"Fine. Then let's divorce. Leila, don't come regretting it."