There had been too many incidents like that to count.
To keep my mother alive, I'd swallowed every humiliation he threw at me.
But seven days ago, my mother desperately needed five hundred thousand dollars for surgery. Benedict agreed without hesitation, promised it like it was nothing. Then he never paid.
My mother died. I had nothing left to lose.
This deformed excuse for a marriage? I was done with it.
Three years of marriage. Three years without freedom.
Now, I was leaving this cage.
I didn't waste words arguing with Benedict. I would let my actions speak.
While he took Abigail to the hospital, I quietly packed my things.
Standing before the mirror, I cleaned the wound on my forehead. I couldn't afford a doctor, so I pressed a large bandage over it and sealed it shut.
My phone buzzed.
Abigail played the sweet, docile darling whenever she was around Benedict. But in private, she made a point of posting on social media and tagging me.
This time was no different.
It feels so good to be loved.
The photo showed Benedict holding her hand, surrounded by over a dozen specialists he'd hired just for her.
My fingers tightened around the phone. Tears spilled before I could stop them.
When my mother was on her deathbed, Benedict wouldn't spend a cent to save her. But Abigail got slapped once, and he spared no expense flying in a team of specialists for a consultation.
The irony was almost poetic.
I'd never understood why Benedict married me when he didn't love me.
I still didn't understand. But I no longer cared to know the answer.
If he didn't love me, I'd simply leave.
After tending to my wound, I started gathering my belongings.
That was when I realized how pitifully little I actually owned.
I took off the jewelry he'd given me, and a dull ache spread through my chest.
When my mother was dying, Benedict refused to help. I'd planned to sell the jewelry and designer bags he'd gifted me to cover the cost.
They were all fake.
Every last designer bag was a knockoff. The jewelry was costume. Worthless.
And the car I'd been driving was registered under Barnes Group, not my name. I couldn't sell that either.
Three years of marriage, and all I had to show for it was a body covered in scars.
Once I finished packing, I drafted the divorce papers.
That night, Benedict didn't come home.
The next morning, I took the papers to his office at Barnes Group. I wanted this marriage over. The sooner, the better.
When I walked in, Abigail was perched on his lap, the two of them flirting and laughing.
The moment she saw me, she jumped up, her voice dripping with concern. "Amanda, does your forehead still hurt?"
"Abby, you're always so thoughtful." Benedict caught her hand and pulled her back into his arms.
He looked at me. "Finally come to your senses? Here to apologize?"
I set the divorce papers on his desk, my expression calm. "I already signed."
Benedict frowned. He picked up the agreement.
"You're walking away with nothing?" He looked up at me. "What do you even have without me?"
"You think you can survive on your own?"
He hurled the papers at my face. "Now that your mother's better, you've forgotten your place?"
He pulled out a pen. "Fine. I'll sign. Pay back every dollar I spent on her medical bills first."
"You're sure you want me to do that? Want to push this?"
"Benedict, as your wife, I'm legally entitled to half of everything you own."
"Right now, I'm asking for nothing. Just sign, and we go our separate ways."
"Don't push your luck."
"Sure, we can split assets. Or I can walk away with nothing." He stared at me, a cold smile forming. "Go ahead. Take me to court."
"But just so you know, my monthly salary is one dollar. My personal savings are under a hundred."
"The house, the cars, everything is in the company's name."
