“What are you screaming for?” Impatiently, she said, “Your sister is prettier and more capable. The fact that she likes your husband is good luck for you. She doesn’t even care that Waylon is secondhand after you’ve shared a bed with him for three years. What right do you have to yell? You’re just a small, low-class thing. You’ll never match your sister, you’ll never be presentable.”
My ears rang, and I yelled in anger, “I will never divorce him, not even if I die! And Waylon won’t either!”
“That might not be true!” My mother laughed proudly. “I already told Waylon that you were seen messing around in a hotel with five men last night. He’s heading back right now to divorce you. Just in time for him and your sister to get their marriage license.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing; tears of rage ran down my face. “Mom, how can you accuse me like that?”
Coldly, she laughed. “If you refuse to divorce, I’ll show up at your job and tell everyone. I’ll post online that you abused and hit me. I’ll ruin your name until it stinks across the city, what people now call ‘social death.’ No company will ever take you again. You’ll end up begging on the streets.”