Tears streamed down my face, I couldn't stop it.
Did Leon really think I wanted to be out of the house every day? That I enjoyed working 15-hour shifts?
Since the day our daughter was born, he hadn’t held a single job. He spent his days chasing pipe dreams of getting rich through some mythical startup that never existed beyond his head.
Meanwhile, the mortgage, the bills, groceries, daycare—everything—fell on my shoulders.
If I stayed home all day, what exactly were we supposed to eat? How were we supposed to survive?
And yet, after all the sleepless nights, the constant hustle, the sacrifices… what I got in return was public humiliation. From my own husband.
I wiped the tears off my face and, for the first time, defied him. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said quietly but firmly. “I’m not apologizing.”
Right after, I turned and walked toward my daughter.
The crowd buzzed with whispers. Leon’s pride took a hit in front of everyone and he snapped. Out of nowhere, he kicked me—hard—from behind.
I wasn’t ready. I stumbled forward and crashed down, landing right on top of my daughter. She opened her mouth, her tiny lips gasping for air—but no sound came out.
My heart shattered. I didn’t even look back. I scooped her up and ran. I flagged down the first cab I could find and rushed her to the hospital.
Behind me, I could still hear Leon shouting with rage, “If you leave right now, don’t bother coming back!”
Casey spent the entire night in the emergency room. It was touch and go, but she pulled through.
The next morning, I found a tiny, run-down apartment near my office and signed the lease. I drained the four thousand dollars I’d been saving—money I had originally planned to give Gwendolyn*—and used it to hire a part-time nanny so Casey would be safe during the day.
Once she was settled, I rushed off to work, still exhausted, still shaken.
I had barely stepped into the office when my phone rang.
It was Leon.
“Carolyn, where the hell have you been?!” Leon barked the moment I picked up.
“You didn’t come home all night! My mom was so upset she can’t even get out of bed! You better come back right now and apologize! And pick up some crab and shrimp on the way—make her something nice for dinner!”
“I have to work. I’m not coming back,” I said coldly.
“The hell you say?! You’ve got some nerve now, huh?” he snapped. “Fine. Don’t come back. But transfer this month’s living expenses to my mom. I don’t care where you go after that!”
The thing is, Gwendolyn never watched our kid out of the kindness of her heart.
From the very beginning, Leon insisted that we “show her respect” by paying her—four thousand yuan a month. In our small town, that was a lot. For that price, we could’ve hired a trained nanny.
I agreed—because it was still the most I could afford.
Gwendolyn had smiled at me, saying, “Carol, come on. We’re family—do you think I’d spend that money on myself? Of course it’ll all go toward the household.”
Yeah. Right.
Whenever we needed anything decent for dinner—anything beyond eggs and rice—she expected me to buy it myself. The so-called “household money” barely covered a thing. I was still footing most of the bills.
Then, there was her schedule.
Every time I got home from work, she'd vanish—leaving the baby and the kitchen for me to deal with while she ran off to play mahjong. Her time and that four grand, mostly got spent at the card table.
The pressure crushed me. I ended up picking up a second job on weekends just to keep up.
I kept telling myself: If she’s watching the baby, then it’s worth it. I can tough it out.
But after what happened yesterday… after watching my daughter nearly die while Gwendolyn cried her way out of taking any responsibility…
I wasn’t going to keep swallowing this anymore.
“It’s only the first of the month,” I said calmly. “And your mom didn’t watch the baby at all. She won’t be watching her anymore either.”
Leon paused, stunned—then his voice turned sharp. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re saying you’re not paying the living expenses anymore?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “She’s not taking care of me or our daughter and she’s not the one who gave birth to her. If you think your mom needs money, then you pay her.”
Leon practically growled through clenched teeth. “Fine. Fine. Great! You’re right—she didn’t give birth to you. But you’re my wife. And if my company goes under because of cash flow, that’s on you. Transfer fifty thousand yuan to me. Now. Or deal with the consequences.”
Fifty thousand?
Leon was really out of his mind.
I was juggling three jobs. Even with all of them combined, I barely pulled in a little over ten thousand a month.
After the mortgage, his mom’s four-thousand “respect fee,” and the chunks of my paycheck he regularly demanded in the name of “investing in the company,” I hadn’t been able to save a damn thing over the years.
He thought I was sitting on stacks of cash while he played entrepreneur with monopoly money?
What a joke.
