“Cold? Nah, that’s smart,” Derek shot back. “I got in over my head with some bets, sure. But why should I suffer? I’ve got myself a personal slave who thinks she’s being a ‘good wife.’”
Naomi’s purse slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Inside, the conversation shifted to a woman named Amber. Derek’s tone turned sweet and predatory. He explained that Amber didn’t know about the debt. He took her to expensive dinners and bought her jewelry using Naomi’s hard-earned money. “Amber’s fun,” Derek said. “She’s not exhausted and complaining all the time like Naomi.”
Naomi backed away, her chest tightening until she couldn’t breathe. Three years. For three years, she had lived on ramen and peanut butter, wearing the same three outfits and cutting her own hair, while Derek skimmed her paychecks to fund a double life. As she looked at the sink full of Derek’s dirty dishes, a word formed in her mind like a crack of thunder: No.