Chapter 2

[ NANCY’S POV ]

The rain was a wall of water. I drove slowly, my wipers fighting to clear the windshield, but the thunder was so loud it shook the car. Then, without warning, the engine sputtered and died. I tried the key again and again, but there was nothing. No lights, no sound. Just the roar of the storm.

I looked around. The road was empty. No cabs, no cars, just the dark and the rain. I couldn't call him, I knew he wouldn’t pick up, or he’d yell at me for being useless.

So, I ran.

I stepped out into the freezing downpour and started to trek. By the time I reached the club, I was shivering so hard my teeth were clicking together. My clothes were soaked through, sticking to my skin, and my hair was plastered to my face. I looked like a ghost.

I pushed through the club doors, the warm air hitting my cold skin like a slap. I found the VIP section. All of Dave's friends were there, holding drinks and laughing. When they saw me, the music seemed to fade. They looked at me with a bad eye, disgusted and confused.

"Dave, is this not your wife?" one of them asked, pointing at me.

Dave didn't even stand up. He just glanced at me and took a sip of his drink. "She’s the one," he said, his voice flat.

"Why is she looking so wretched?" another friend whispered, not even trying to hide it.

Dave finally stood up and walked over. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't ask how I got there in a storm without a car. He just looked at my soaked clothes and frowned. "How are you looking like this?" he snapped. "You’re making a scene."

I couldn't even answer. I was shivering too hard to speak. I just held out the small plastic bag with the pads.

Before I could say a word, Lydia appeared. She didn't look pitiful anymore. She looked annoyed. She snatched the bag out of my hand and let out a loud hiss, like I had kept her waiting on purpose. She didn't say thank you. She just turned her back on me and walked toward the restroom.

I stood there, dripping water onto the club floor, shaking in front of everyone. My husband just stood there, too. He didn't give me his jacket. He didn't tell me to sit down. He just looked ashamed not of himself, but of me.

I looked at him, my voice cracking as I tried to speak through my shivering. I explained how the car had just died in the dark, how the roads were empty, and how I had to trek all that way in the storm just to bring what he asked for. I was hoping for a spark of worry, or at least a bit of pity.

"Can you please give me a lift back?" I whispered. "I can't go back out there."

He didn't even look at me. He just turned back to the table. "Wait," he said coldly. "We just started enjoying the party. I'm not leaving yet."

So I waited. I sat in a far corner, away from the plush booths where they were all laughing and drinking. I didn't fit in. I sat there in my soaked, heavy clothes, hugging my arms to stop the shaking.

Every time a waiter passed by, they looked at me like I was a mess they needed to clean up. Dave didn't look at me once. He was too busy laughing with his friends and whispering things to Lydia that made her giggle.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he stood up. "It’s time to go," he announced to the group.

I stood up too, my legs stiff from the cold, but he didn't walk toward me. He walked toward Lydia. "I’m going to drop Lydia off first," he said. It wasn't a question.

The car ride was a nightmare. They sat in the front, gisting and laughing about old times, talking as if I didn't exist in the backseat. He acted like I wasn't even his wife, just some hitchhiker he was forced to pick up. I watched the back of his head, feeling the gap between us grow wider with every mile.

When we reached Lydia’s house, she leaned over and smiled at him. "Goodnight, dear," she said, her voice soft and sweet. "Thanks, Dave, for the ride."

The moment she closed the car door and he drove off, the silence broke but not with an apology.

He started lavishing me with insults. "You’re useless," he spat, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "You can’t do a single thing right. First you bring the wrong files, then you can't even keep a car running? Look at how you looked in front of my friends. You embarrassed me."

He spent the whole drive home comparing me to other women, telling me how much better and smarter everyone else was. By the time we pulled into our driveway, I felt smaller than I ever had before.

The moment we reached the gate, he didn't even park the car. He just hit the locks and told me to get out. Before I could even close the gate behind me, I heard the engine roar as he sped off back into the night. He was going back to the club. Or back to her.

I walked into the house, and the silence felt heavier than the rain. I was still dripping wet, leaving a trail of cold water on the floor. I looked around at the furniture, the photos on the walls, and the life we were supposed to be building.

I felt so neglected. I was his wife, but I had been treated worse than a stranger. I thought about the way his friends looked at me, the way Lydia hissed at me, and how Dave just let it happen. I felt abandoned, like a piece of trash he had thrown to the curb once I was no longer useful.

I went to the bathroom and peeled off my soaked, heavy clothes. My skin was blue from the cold. As I stood in the shower, the warm water finally hitting my back, I started to cry. I wasn't just crying because of the cold or the broken car. I was crying because of the maltreatment.

After I changed, I sat on the edge of the bed. I kept looking at the door, listening for the sound of his car in the driveway. Even after everything, the embarrassment, the insults, the way he compared me to everyone else, a part of me was still waiting. I was still watching the clock, wondering when he would come home, and wondering if I would ever be enough for him.