Chapter 3

Marcus' hand froze in midair. His lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, and his eyes burned with fury. "I won't have you talking about my brother like that! You don't have the right!"

He used the word "right."

I'd been married to him for five years. I did his laundry, cooked his meals, and ran the household.

His mother's health wasn't great, so I'd asked everyone I knew to help me find a good herbalist. Three times a week, I personally simmered her herbal concoctions and brought them over.

Ryan was away at college in another state and never came home for the holidays. I'd taken care of everything for him, from food, clothes, and housing to enrollment fees, bedsheets, and pillowcases.

As a wife, a daughter-in-law, and even a sister-in-law, I had nothing to be ashamed of. Yet Marcus told me I didn't have the right.

I lowered the hand covering my face.

My fingers trembled, but my voice came out so calm that it startled even me. "Marcus Dean."

In five years of marriage, this was the first time I'd called him by his full name.

"Do you know what I was doing when you transferred my money out?"

He looked away and refused to meet my eyes.

"What?" His voice was stiff and stubborn.

"I was at the grocery store. Ryan called last night and said he'd be home today. He said he was craving my BBQ ribs.

"I bought a couple of pounds. Six dollars and ten cents. And when I went to pay, that's when I found out you'd moved every cent out of the account."

I didn't wait to see whether regret crossed his face. I turned and walked into the bedroom.

The moment the door shut, the tears finally came.

I was done with this marriage. That much was certain.

…

I didn't give myself time to wallow.

I packed as fast as I could and grabbed my bankbook and our marriage license. Then I headed back to my parents' place.

On my way out, I saw Marcus on the balcony, talking on the phone. "Mom, did you get the money? How much more do we need?

"1,100 dollars? Okay, got it. Olivia still has that gold necklace from our wedding. She barely wears it. I'll go sell it this afternoon."

There was a pause on Linda's end. "Isn't that part of her wedding gift? Is Olivia really okay with that?"

Marcus glanced toward the bedroom and lowered his voice. "She'll agree to it. She's always been reasonable."

The words reached my ears, and I froze for a moment. Then I wheeled my suitcase straight out the door without a second thought.

I took the gold necklace with me. If Marcus really wanted it, he could fight for it in court when we divorced.

I straightened my aching back, lifted my chin, and walked out of that house.

…

By the time I reached my parents' place, it was already dark.

My mother, Rachel Cole, was out in the yard tending the vegetables, while my father, Peter Brown, sat nearby with his radio. An old opera played softly from the speaker.

When they saw me, they both froze.

"What are you doing back here all of a sudden?"

My mother noticed the suitcase first. The trowel slipped from her hand. "Why do you have your bags? Where's Marcus? Didn't he come with you?"

My father stood and switched off the radio. "What happened?"

I looked at the same concern on both their faces. My grip loosened, and the suitcase dropped to the ground.

"I'm divorcing Marcus," I said. "He gave every cent of our savings to his brother for a car, and now he wants to sell my gold necklace too. Mom, Dad, I can't live like this anymore. Not for one more day."

By then, I was crying. I finally let myself feel everything I'd been holding back.

My mother's eyes reddened. She wiped her hands over and over on her apron as if she wanted to reach for me but didn't quite dare.

My father's face darkened, and his fists clenched. Then his gaze suddenly fixed on something.

His pupils narrowed as fury simmered beneath the surface. "Did he hit you?"

I froze. When I pulled out my phone and looked at my reflection on the screen, I finally saw it myself: a clear handprint across my left cheek.

My throat closed instantly. "Yeah."

"That animal!" my mother cried, her voice shaking.