Hated By My Husband, Loved By His Boss (A short story)

Genevieve's Point of View"And what is that supposed to mean? You think divorce is a word you should be throwing around?" Fred's eyes narrowed, anger brewing in them. "It hasn't gotten to divorce yet."My mouth fell open as I watched him in dismay. It hasn't come to divorce... Am I supposed to die before he takes me seriously?"Listen to me, Genevieve, I don't have time for your shenanigans. I have guests waiting for me outside!" Then he stormed out, leaving me to wallow in my thoughts.Why does he always walk out when there's a serious discussion? Why won't he just calm down and listen to what I have to say for once?My eyes moved to the box containing my dead cat, and uncontrollable tears flowed down my face. My only friend was gone forever.I didn't go out of my room, and I couldn't sleep throughout the night. I held my father's photo, staring at it with a sad smile as my mind wandered. Would things be any different if my father was alive? Would I be leading a better life than this

Genevieve's Point of ViewWhile in my state of confusion, he took off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders, his eyes softened."Give me a minute," he said.He faced Fred with a deep frown and narrowed, blood-red eyes. "How dare you treat my wife with so much disrespect?!" He landed a punch on Fred's face, sending him straight to the ground.Fear. For the first time since I knew Fred, this was the first time he was actually afraid of someone. He shook his head in desperation."Don... I'm afraid you've misunderstood something. She's actually my wife. We've been—""Shut the fuck up!" the man snarled as he gave Fred a hard kick to his stomach.Maybe I'm secretly a wicked person, because I felt so much satisfaction seeing Fred suffer from this man's wrath."You think I wouldn't recognize my wife when I see her?!"Fred couldn't speak. He wanted to say something, but he looked so scared that he kept quiet instead."Take this motherfucker back!" he ordered his men. "I'll deal with him

Genevieve's Point of ViewI watched as my mother walked out the gate after assuring her that I'd convince Enzo to let Fred go. It was obviously not going to be an easy job, but I'd give it a try."Where is your mother?" Enzo asked immediately I entered the living room."She's gone," I answered."Oh." He pouted in disappointment. I guess he thought I would invite her in."Alright. Let's go visit that motherfucker, then I'll take you to my parents' afterwards," he said. I could only nod in agreement and follow him.********I shivered as we walked down a dimly lit, narrow, and suffocating passage, its stone walls slick with moisture and the stench of mildew hanging heavy in the air. The farther we went, the colder it got."Here." Enzo handed his jacket to me when he noticed I was shivering."Thank you," I muttered quietly before wearing it.After about fifteen minutes of walking through the passage, I could finally hear an agonizing scream, and the screamer's voice sounded familiar—Fred

Third Person's Point of View> Fred's Home —his son," Kelvin said, getting more agitated a

Genevieve's Point of View"Are you sure you're okay?" Enzo asked me for the nth time."Yeah."He stared at me for a moment before returning his focus to his phone. We're currently in the car, heading to the mall.After a few minutes, we arrived, and the driver parked the car in a space in the parking lot."Let's go, baby," Enzo said.He alighted and held the door open until I alighted too. He reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers."What should we get first?" he asked."Shoes," I answered, totally absentmindedly as my mind was focused on how to sneak out."Alright, let's see what we can get from this shop." He pointed at a bag shop not too far from us."Hm," I hummed in reply.We entered the shop. I tried to find an opportunity to sneak away but didn’t get any, as Enzo was closely following me. He kept recommending brands of bags to me, telling me how they'd look good on me—a stranger might even mistake him for a salesman."I need to come up with a plan," I murmured to myself