Chapter 2

2.

Arthur and I had been sleeping in separate rooms for two years.

He claimed I was old, ugly, and didn't know how to dress up.

He was a high-level bank executive, while I was just a plain housewife. He never took me to his fancy parties.

When we first got married, we were poor but happy. He used to be so sweet.

If I craved the honey pecan bars from that bakery across town, he'd ride his scooter through the rain just to get them for me.

My brother used to call me a loser for marrying a man with no money. I even used my own savings to help pay our rent.

But I believed in Arthur. I knew he had potential.

I was right. By his mid-thirties, he was making seven figures at the bank.

A neighbor at the local coffee shop once scoffed at me while I was picking up breakfast.

"I don't get you, Quinn. You look miserable all the time. What do you have to complain about?"

"You live in a mansion. Your husband is successful. Your son is a straight-A student."

"I heard Arthur even gave you a 'Wife of the Year' plaque in front of the whole hospital staff when you gave birth. Most women would kill for your life!"

"Maybe you're right," I murmured.

I didn't argue. I just took my coffee and adjusted my sleeves to hide the fresh bruises on my arms.

I should have been happy. If only this life hadn't cost me twenty years of being a human punching bag.