Chapter 2

The living room fell dead silent.

Dad turned off the stove, set the spatula down, and came over to sit beside Mom.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

I pulled out the crumpled medical papers from my bag and set them on the coffee table.

Mom picked them up, her face instantly darkening. "Another infection? The third one? How did this happen?"

"Tyler never lifts the toilet seat. He leaves a mess every single time. I told him over and over, but he refused to listen. The bacterial infections keep coming back. The doctor told me it’s putting my kidneys at risk."

Mom’s hands began to shake.

Dad’s expression turned grim.

"Just because I brought up divorce over this, he called me crazy. He said other women never have these problems and asked why I was being so difficult."

I let out a dry, hollow laugh, folding the papers and putting them back in my bag.

"'Other women,'" I echoed. "Mom, how does he even know what other women deal with?"

Mom’s eyes welled with tears.

Dad bolted to his feet, walked out onto the balcony, and lit a cigarette.

I knew he was fighting his temper.

Dad had a fiery temper. Back when he worked in construction, he once led a dozen workers to corner a shady contractor who refused to pay them.

Yet ever since I married Tyler, he had forced himself to endure everything.

Tyler’s mother had told all their relatives that my family had no class, that I was marrying above my station. Terrified of making life harder for me, my dad had swallowed his pride for five miserable years.

"Chloe," Dad's gravelly voice drifted in from the balcony. "Have you made up your mind?"

"Yes."

"No regrets?"

"None."

Dad turned around and looked at Mom. "Get the savings bankbook."

Mom blinked. "Arthur..."

"Get it," Dad insisted, stubbing out his cigarette as he walked back inside. "Our daughter needs a good lawyer. If I hadn't let you talk me into putting his name on the deed, that bastard wouldn't be trying to take half of her home right now."

A wave of guilt washed over me.

When we bought the apartment, Dad wanted it solely under my name.

Tyler threw a fit, arguing that he contributed to household expenses and demanding his name be on the title.

Caught in the middle, I begged my dad to let it go, saying we were family now.

Family.

The word felt like a sickening joke now.

While Mom went to the bedroom to get the bankbook, Dad sat beside me and gently patted my hand.

"Chloe, I used to tell you to compromise because I thought you two could build a life. But if a marriage destroys your health, you get the hell out."

I nodded silently.

My phone buzzed again.

Tyler had sent seven or eight messages in a row. The last one read: Chloe, don't think running to your mommy and daddy is going to scare me. My mom said if you don't come back and apologize on your knees, she’s coming over tomorrow to take back that wedding check!

The wedding check.

Three thousand dollars.

Five years of pouring my soul into their family, and to them, my worth boiled down to three thousand dollars.

Mom came back and handed me the bankbook. "There's forty thousand dollars here. Take it for your attorney."

I pushed it back.

"Mom, I have my own money."

"Your paycheck barely covered that mortgage! Where would you get money?"

I didn't explain.

Over the past five years, I had quietly saved up nearly thirty thousand dollars in a personal account. Tyler didn't know about it, and his mother certainly didn't either.

From the second I threw those medical papers on the table, I was done taking their abuse.