“I’ve been financially supporting my husband and his family for nearly 10 years,” I told her. “I want to separate, but I want to do it quietly for now.”
She didn’t ask why.
She didn’t need to.
She simply said, “I’ve handled worse. I’ll guide you.”
I felt relief.
A strange kind of peace I hadn’t felt in years.
After work, I drove past a quiet apartment complex about 20 minutes away.
Nothing fancy.
Just small, clean, and peaceful.
I asked about a unit, and by the next week, I had signed a lease under my middle name.
It was mine.
For the first time in a decade, something belonged only to me.
At home, things were unraveling.
Vivien complained about the grocery budget shrinking.
“Did you forget milk again, Nina?”
Rachel whined about the Wi-Fi being slow.
“Can you just call the provider already?”
Eric was suddenly interested in my mood.
“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”
I smiled and said, “Just tired. Long days.”
But my eyes, they didn’t look tired anymore.
They looked aware.
I stopped cooking extra portions.
I bought fewer groceries.
I told them the bank had flagged one of my cards and I couldn’t use it for a while.
They panicked.
I watched.
Vivien started hinting that maybe I should ask for a loan from work.
Rachel started rummaging through my things when she thought I wasn’t looking.
And Eric, he started being sweet again.
Bringing me tea.
Asking about my day.
Holding my hand.
It was too late.
I had already handed Carla a full list of my income and what I’d spent on his family for the last nine years.
read more in next page
