Chapter 2: Five million dollars

Catherine

When I finally woke up in the afternoon, I took my bath, went through my closet and found nothing presentable. Most of my clothes were worn out and my shoes (just a pair of worn out heels and old sneakers) were worse. I sighed and angrily threw them out. I finally found a nice gown tucked at the back of the closet.

I’d bought it before marriage. It was skimpy and sexy, inappropriate for a married woman, and with my growing belly back then, it had become forgotten, collecting dust. I smiled as I looked at it on my body.

It was perfect.

I was still hot.

Just a little care was needed.

Finally dressed up, I walked out of my room.

I went shopping. Something I haven't done in years.

I stood in front of the skincare shelf for almost five minutes.

A twelve-dollar moisturizer suddenly felt extravagant.

Six years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice before buying it.

Somewhere along the way, I'd convinced myself I wasn't worth twelve dollars.

My hands immediately dropped it into my basket before I could think twice.

Picking up other popular products along the way, I moved onto the clothing section.

I didn't hesitate here.

I bought new clothes, a new pair of heels for work, and got myself some snacks that I munched on as I walked back home.

I called my mom and told her the kids would be staying with her for a while. I didn't want them around when I sort things out with Mason.

After picking up Ethan and Mara from school, I took a cab straight to Mom's house, Mara and Ethan munching on the cookies I got them.

I've always felt bad for my mom. She raised me as a single mother, after my father died, and just when I was supposed to start making life easy for her, I got pregnant and got stuck in this hell hole, struggling to send even little pennies to her monthly. What even hurt the most is that she never complained, always asking if I was ok first, and even helping me with money sometimes when things got too tough. I didn't even know how to explain to her.

When mom opened the door, she was beaming. I rarely brought the kids over. Mason didn't want "poverty" to rub off on them.

"Catie!" she called and I flew into her open arms snuggling into her warmth. She already had a table of food prepared and stuffed me and the kids until I was rubbing my swollen belly on the couch and the kids were spacing away on her bed.

"So," she finally asked, "What's really going wrong Catie? Tell me if anything is going wrong. I may not be rich and strong, but I will never allow my daughter to be bullied." She held my hand, "tell me, is Mason not treating you well?" She touched my cheeks, "You keep losing weight," then she looked terrified, "Or are you sick? Have you gone for any checkup?"

Tears almost streamed down my face. "I'm okay mom," I replied holding the tears back. "I'm just a little stressed, but I'll rest and get it together." Mom would breakdown if she heard what I've been going through. There was no need for that.

I left mom's home very late. When I got back home, Mason was already home and he looked very disgusted by the state of the house. It was a real mess, coupled with the clothes I'd thrown out lying around the living room (the same way he threw things around and I picked them up), and the dishes from breakfast unwashed, it looked like a total disaster.

"Where have you been?" Mason asked the moment I came in. He was seated cross-legged on the couch, his voice calm but laced with irritation. "Why is the house such a mess?"

I didn't even look at him, instead I silently changed my shoes into the cute fluffy slippers I'd bought and went straight to my room locking the door behind me.

Moments later, I came out, stuck a "I'M NOT ON DUTY TODAY" sign on my door and went back in.

I was trying on the clothes I bought when I heard him banging on my door.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked when I opened. "What are you playing at? And where are the kids?"

I sighed folding my hands. "As you can see, I'm not on duty today. We are going 50/50, so you should do your own share of the chores. I've been doing the chores for the past six years without receiving a dime, so you can do it for a day right? It shouldn't be too hard for our almighty CEO. And the kids are with my mom so don't worry about bathing them and putting them to bed." Before he could say anything more, I slammed the door in his face, going back to my business.

I waited for him to bang on the door again.

He didn't.

I guess I gave him too much credit.

I simply shrugged and continued trying on my dress.

He didn't say anything more, but I heard him moving around the living room and the kitchen.

Later that night, I took out the journal I bought from the store and all the bills and receipts that had accumulated over the years, then I started calculating.

Pregnancy cravings... $4,362.

Hospital visits... $18,000.

Six years of housekeeping... $438,000.

Six years as his private chef...

Six years as his nanny...

Six years as his live-in secretary...

Six years of unpaid emotional labor...

One lost promotion...

Hormonal changes pregnancy caused to my body..

Mental distress before and after pregnancy...

Other things I bought but didn't ask that he pay for... (I didn't ask for compensation for the kids or split anything I bought for the kids myself, because they were mine. I did those for them).

I spent hours calculating everything.

Receipts.

Old notebooks.

Hospital bills.

Salary slips.

Promotion letters.

Photos.

I was up until 3 a.m.

How do you calculate six years of emotional distress and heartbreak?

It was daybreak when I finally rounded off on a figure.

Five million dollars.

I knew the money would be nothing to him, he was a billionaire after all, but it was my wage for all those years of service to him. I deserved it.

It wasn't the value of my pain.

Nothing could ever pay for that.

It was simply the highest number I could justify on paper.

The next morning, when I went out of the room, I smiled at how petty he was. He had cleaned up only his own part of the mess, and left the rest, obviously claiming those were none of his business. I walked into his room (he was dressing up), and gave the file to him.

5 million dollars, until the end of the week. That meant he only had two days to wire the money to me.

He wanted everything split down the middle?

Fine.

From today onward...

He would receive exactly half of me.