He Gave Me Ten Minutes a Day, So I Left

I was the only person sitting alone in a restaurant full of couples.

The steak in front of me had gone so cold I could barely chew it.

My phone was still open to Elena's latest Instagram post.

The same Elena who'd claimed to have a headache was in a swimsuit at a rooftop hotel pool party.

Andrew, who was always so cold with me, was there too.

He sat next to Elena, happily tossing a stack of cash into the air.

Elena's caption said it all.

"My brother's got everything covered."

A notification popped up at the top of the screen.

It was another text from my father, pressing me to agree to the arranged marriage.

This time, I didn't say no. I texted back.

"Okay."

"I'll come home as soon as I'm packed."

From the day I started dating Andrew, I knew I'd have to settle for less.

His time was money, and he never spared me a second more than he had to.

He was calm, rational, and ambitious.

Not like the rich kids around me who blew through their trust funds.

At our senior formal, I worked up the courage to tell him how I felt.

And I finally got the chance to be with him.

My father had warned me.

"People in that world only care about what they can get."

Back then, I was naive enough to think I'd be the exception.

I talked myself into being happy with just ten minutes a day alone with him.

He had strict rules, and they applied to everyone.

At least I was his girlfriend. I had a place in his future.

Then Elena showed up.

She was Andrew's stepsister.

They weren't related by blood, yet she got all his attention.

Before Andrew left, he'd given me a check and a necklace.

He said it was to make it up to me.

It was the first time Andrew had given me anything besides a few words to placate me.

It was a dated monogram necklace, with the metal worn at the edges.

I'd seen it around Elena's neck.

A hand-me-down. As if that was all I was worth to him.

Just a maid who'd never leave and would come running whenever he called.

If you treat yourself like you're worth nothing, that's exactly how other people will treat you.

I went back to the apartment I was renting.

To force me to come home, my father had cut my allowance.

But I'd still rented a place in the heart of Manhattan so Andrew would have an easy commute.

The rent was $10,000 a month. Every cent I made from three jobs went toward it.

Yet I was allowed to spend less than a day there each month.

All that groveling couldn't even buy me one uninterrupted Valentine's Day dinner.

I curled up on the couch and texted my landlord without a second thought.

"I'm giving up the apartment."

The landlord didn't try to change my mind.

Apartments in Manhattan never had trouble finding renters.

And Andrew wasn't the only man in the world.

"I'll give you three days to get your things out."

"Okay."