I Lost Everything and Became My Husband's Thrall

For three days and three nights, Joseph gave me no respite.

He had come to live with me as my husband, one I had little respect for. Not only would I never let him touch me, but I'd done everything in my power to belittle him.

But now that my fortune had all but disappeared, and he was suddenly a rich man, it was like he was taking his revenge. He seemed to savor every last act we performed.

...

My husband came to me with nothing.

It wasn't even him I liked; it was his brother. But at a class reunion, I had too much to drink and he took advantage.

Not only that, but everyone we knew found out.

My father was disgraced. He felt the only thing to do to save our family honor was for me to marry this man. But he did have one condition, that the man who despoiled me would come and live with us in our family home.

My new husband's parents were divorced. His father had all but abandoned him after remarrying and now he had nothing.

As for me, my family was rich, and I was my parents' little princess. My husband could hardly have dreamed of a better match.

So, just like that, we were married.

No one even considered what I wanted. I wanted his brother.

Naturally, I resented him and everything he'd done. I wouldn't let him near me. I made him sleep on the floor.

I would mock him at mealtimes, along with my brother. We'd sneer at him and refuse him food.

He'd still do things for me, like bring me umbrellas in the rain, but I'd make sure to insult him nonetheless.

I couldn't feel easy letting him get away with what he'd done.

Despite all this, he never seemed to mind. It was like he had no temper, no self-respect. Whatever me or my family said and did, he would always sit there meekly and take it.

Objectively, he wasn't bad to look at. If he hadn't been so introverted and if his grades hadn't been so bad then he'd probably have got a lot more attention at school.

His brother was a different story. Handsome, outgoing, with impeccable grades, he was what you might call a bit of a schoolyard celebrity.

To think that our burgeoning romance was snuffed out so cruelly by my husband's actions was a source of great pain and anger.

In the middle of the night, I got out of bed and kicked my husband awake, demanding a drink.

He immediately pulled himself to his feet and dutifully got me a glass of water.

As there was a slight autumn chill in the air, he even warmed it up for me.

Such thoughtfulness might have charmed me, but all I could think of was how he'd used me the night of our class reunion. My anger flared and I threw the whole glass of water in his face.

His only reaction was to go to the bathroom to dry himself off.

Watching him quietly slink away, I almost felt a pang of guilt for my actions. That is, until I reminded myself once more of what he'd done and how my life would never be the same again.

This was our life for the first three years of marriage.

But a lot can happen in three years. For example, my family losing our fortune, or me starting to fall for my husband, or even... him deciding he wanted a divorce.

When he handed me the divorce papers, he said it was because his childhood sweetheart had returned.

I have to admit, at that moment, I was in shock. It was like a great weight was crushing my chest and I could hardly breathe.

But I had too much self-respect to let him see how he was hurting me. With as carefree an expression as I could muster, I took the pen from his hand and signed the papers.

As soon as I had done so, he asked me, not unkindly, "Would you like my driver to take you home?"

It took me a while to react.

The villa I was in, the villa I had called home for over 20 years, was no longer mine.

My family was broke. All of our possessions had been sold off.

All this while he, the man who had forced me into marriage when he had nothing to his name, had secretly started his own company and built his own fortune behind my back. To add insult to injury, it was he who had bought our family home.

Not that I could blame him completely. Or that I had any claim to his wealth. He had worked hard to get where he was, without a penny of help from me or my family, all while suffering in silence.

He stared at me in silence, waiting for my response.

He suddenly seemed so reasonable, while I was now ashamed of how I'd treated him.

After all that I'd put him through, it would be only natural for him to use this reversal of fortunes to exact his revenge.

But he wasn't doing so. If anything, he seemed just as meek and mild-mannered as before.

"There's no need. I'll find my own way back." I replied.

As soon as I'd finished speaking, I turned and hurried outside.

His voice called after me, calmly, "What did you come to see me about?"

"Nothing" I called back, without even turning my head.

It was raining outside and I clutched the gift I was carrying tightly to keep it dry.

Today was our third-year anniversary.

I'd never done anything nice for him before, but since realizing I had developed feelings for him, I thought it might be nice to celebrate a nice occasion together.

I'd never dreamed that what awaited me was a pile of divorce papers.

I smiled a bitter smile as the rain soaked through my clothing and left me drenched.

The next day, I woke up sniffling. I lay there in bed, feeling too weak to get up.

Eventually, a commotion outside disturbed me from my malaise.

I dragged myself feebly out of bed. When I made it outside, my father was sitting atop a crumbling wall, declaring to all that he wanted to die.

We were now living in a dilapidated apartment block. Conditions in the building were poor, but the rent was cheap.

My mother was crying and wailing, screaming at my father that if he jumped, she would follow suit.

My head was pounding as I tried to talk my father down. I tried to tell him that money isn't everything, that as long as we have each other we'd be fine.

My father looked at me, suddenly quiet. His eyes seemed to be burning into my soul.

"Go ask Joseph for help. He's family. He wouldn't abandon us now."

Having heard my father's words, my mother hastily added, "Of course! Maybe we haven't always seen eye to eye, but he's your husband. He's certain to help."

I could almost have laughed. My parents still had no idea about our divorce.

I tried to tell them he wouldn't help, but my father started becoming hysterical once more.

He left me with no choice. I had to go crawling back to Joseph. To my "husband".

Before I left, my mother insisted on spending the last of our money to buy me a new outfit: a long dress with a deep-cut V-neck and a pair of pointy leather shoes.

She also helped me do my make-up so I was dolled up to the nines.

As I looked myself up and down in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of revulsion.

I didn't look at all like someone asking for help. I looked more like I was on a mission to seduce.

But even if I turned up on his doorstep in my birthday suit, I doubt he'd give me more than a cursory glance.

At that time, I couldn't understand why he'd slept with me at our class reunion. Could it be that he was just as drunk as I was? Had he mistaken me for his sweetheart?

I quickly put those thoughts out of my mind. Even though I was doomed to fail, I would go to ask him for help. That way my parents could give up on the fantasy that he might save us.

After making some inquiries, I discovered that he was at his company's offices. And so, that's where I went.

I headed inside, while my parents, who had accompanied me this far, waited outside.

The looks of pure, desperate hope on their faces were almost too much for me to bear, knowing how much this would disappoint them.

When I arrived at his office, I was greeted by a sea of unfriendly faces. I could make out people talking about me as I passed. Nothing I heard was nice.

I pretended not to notice. I straightened my shoulders and made straight for his personal office.

But as soon as I saw him, I could feel my confidence fade.

He was sitting on his chair, radiating poise, smiling broadly as he watched me approach...