My wife said she was going to sell me, and I thought she was joking—until Prime Sales Day, when she actually put me up for sale online. In the Household Helper Services section: Name: Dexter Langston Age: 32 Service: To be determined by the buyer. Description: This is my husband—a good-for-nothing freeloader without any income. If you’re interested in a spineless bum, feel free to place an order. Price: One order equals one day, priced at $200 per day. Assuming he’s got about 40 years left, you could buy out his entire future for $250,000. Note: Whoever buys him for the rest of his life will have him exclusively, and I’ll divorce him on the spot. Wishing you both happiness. She posted this to mock and humiliate me. But she never imagined that someone—a rich woman—would actually buy my future. Content “Dexter, I’m selling you.” My wife, Samantha Yates, smirked as she handed me her phone to show me the post. My face darkened as I read it. When we got married, I already had my own business. Afterward, she enjoyed the good life I provided. I even built her parents a house back home worth hundreds of thousands and gave her brother $200,000 to help him buy a house and get married. In our third year of marriage, my tech platform company went under. Since then, I’ve been working from home, developing a video game. But in her eyes, that makes me a lazy bum who just plays games all day, never earning a dime. “Samantha, isn’t this going a little too far? Mocking me like this?” I said, my voice cold. When things were good, I never hesitated to give everything I could for you and your family. But now that I’m down, you throw this in my face? “Too far? You’ve been holed up at home for two years, doing nothing but gaming. Am I wrong to call you a waste of space?” she scoffed. “And don’t flatter yourself—no one’s going to buy you anyway.” “It doesn’t matter if anyone does. Just putting me up there shows how little you think of me. And I’ve told you a hundred times—I’m working on a game. When it takes off, everything will turn around.” “Get a grip, Dexter. You’ll never turn things around.” “Oh, and how can you be so sure of that?” She sneered. “Go look in a mirror. You look like a bum; the only difference between you and a street beggar is your clothes. And you’re still talking about ‘turning things around’?” “My time is going into developing the game.” “Enough. I don’t have time for your excuses.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “It’s past 8 p.m. Where are you going?” I asked. “To work, obviously. How else do you think we’ll pay the rent?” She shot back icily. After my company went under, the bank took back our house. “I’ll pay the rent!” I shouted instinctively. She just laughed, slamming the door behind her.
After a few cigarettes, I strapped on my helmet, opened up the delivery app, and waited for an order. Soon enough, I got a delivery for crawfish, and the customer even left a $50 tip, asking that I peel the crawfish when I got there. After picking up the crawfish, I made my way to the customer at the Galactic Lounge & Karaoke Bar. About half an hour later, I found myself outside room 808. Just as I reached for the door, I saw her—Samantha. Inside, a group of seven or eight people were laughing and singing, with Samantha sitting right in the middle next to her ex, Tyson Caldwell. They were singing “Only True Love,” looking like a couple. Didn’t she say she was working late? Guess she’s working overtime… at karaoke. I could feel the heat rise on my scalp, like a storm cloud had just settled over my head. Just then, a heavyset girl opened the door. “Come on in.” I stepped inside. Samantha, engrossed in singing, hadn’t even noticed me. “Just sit over there and peel the crawfish for me. Let me know when you’re done,” she said, pointing to a corner. I settled in, back turned to them, and started peeling. After a few minutes, the group decided to play a game of Spin the Truth. Samantha lost and picked truth. “So, how often do you and your husband, you know…?” Rebecca, the heavyset girl, giggled, prying into her private life. “Ugh, don’t make me sick. Forget weekly; we haven’t done a thing in over a year,” Samantha scoffed, full of disdain. Ever since I lost everything, she’s kept her distance from me. “No way! Not even once in a year? Are you telling the truth?” someone chimed in, incredulous. “I swear, if I’m lying, let me get hit by a car,” she said, raising her hand like she was making an oath. “Well, does your husband even… function?” one of them asked with a snicker. “Hmph. If he doesn’t, I’ll just go elsewhere. Not like I care,” she shot back. “Samantha, that sounds miserable,” someone sighed. “It’s absolute hell. You guys don’t know how disgusting he is, lazing around all day on video games, living off me. Every minute I’m home with that deadbeat is torture,” she sneered. “Oh, Samantha, you deserve better,” Tyson said, pulling her into a comforting hug. “If it weren’t for your mom opposing us back then, I wouldn’t have married that loser out of spite,” Samantha sniffled, clinging to him with tears streaming down her face. “Samantha, I let you down. Don’t cry; it hurts me even more to see you like this,” he said softly, brushing her tears away. “Come on, a few tears aren’t enough! How about a kiss to really make it better?” “Yeah, kiss to rekindle those old flames!” the others cheered. I stole a glance at them, and fury burned in every cell of my body. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, Samantha shyly biting her lip before closing her eyes and tilting her head up. Right as Tyson leaned in to kiss her, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stood up and threw a punch straight into his face. My sudden outburst left everyone in the room shocked. “Are you insane, delivery guy? What’s your problem, punching someone like that?” Rebecca barked. Only then did Samantha notice me. “Oh, him? That’s my pathetic husband.” The room fell silent. “Tyson, are you okay?” she asked, concerned. “I’m fine,” he said, wiping a bit of blood from his split lip. We knew each other—he’d even been at our wedding. Samantha had introduced us back then. “What’s wrong with you? Why would you just start hitting people?” Samantha snapped at me, her tone icy. “What’s wrong with me?” I shook with rage, clenching my jaw. “My head is practically drowning in storm clouds, and I’m just supposed to sit back and take it?” “Tell me where you see any infidelity here,” Samantha said, deflecting. “Oh, please. You were about to kiss him, and you’re still denying it?” “So what if we kiss? Are you going to lose some imaginary pride over it? If I’m shameless, who’s to blame? You. You live like a spineless loser, like some maggot in a sewer—disgusting and worthless,” she spat. My chest felt like it was going to explode. “If you can’t make Samantha happy, maybe you should take the high road and set her free,” Rebecca suggested, smugly. “Right, know your place. Samantha was the campus queen in college, and just look at her—still gorgeous. Look at you now, a lowly delivery guy. How much do you even make a day?” another girl added, scoffing. Turns out these were all Samantha’s college friends. “Go take a long look in the mirror. Here’s $50—just finish peeling the crawfish and stay quiet.” “What an embarrassment. No wonder Samantha’s miserable. If I had a husband like you, I’d rather slam my head into a wall.” “Hey, hey, here’s $200. Just act like you didn’t see anything and scram.” They kept piling on the insults, reveling in it. I clenched my fists, taking in every cruel word. “Go home. Now.” I shouted, grabbing a beer bottle and smashing it against the floor. They all fell silent, seeing the rage twisting my face. “Go home if you want, but I’m not coming with you,” Samantha said without a shred of fear. At that moment, a security guard rushed in, hearing the commotion, and threw me out.
Samantha didn’t come home that night. I sat up all night on the couch, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Finally, around nine in the morning, she walked in, ignoring me and heading straight to the bedroom. “Stop right there!” I shouted, my voice seething with anger. “Where did you sleep last night? I called you dozens of times, and you ignored every one,” I demanded. “Oh, I stayed with Tyson. Is that what you wanted to hear?” she shot back. “Do you have any shame left at all?” “Shame? Is that worth anything? If you’re so hung up on pride, why don’t you try earning some money? Then you can throw it in my face—I’d let you.” I was gritting my teeth, every muscle tense with fury. “You’re unbelievable,” I growled. “Yeah, I’m realistic.” That’s not what she said when we were dating. Back then, she claimed she didn’t care about my money, that she loved me for me. She promised that whether we were rich or poor, she’d stay by my side, no matter what. “Things change. How could I have known you’d go bankrupt? Believe me, I’m even more upset about it than you.” I was left speechless. Suddenly, her phone chimed with a notification. She checked it, and her face went from smug to stunned, eyes wide with disbelief. “This… this can’t be real…” “Dexter, someone actually bought you—for the rest of your life,” she said, flabbergasted. “What?” “Look.” She showed me the screen. The order showed someone had bought out my entire future—$250,000, paid in full. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it either. “Look at the buyer’s profile… looks like she’s pushing 70. Dexter, you hit the jackpot, caught yourself a rich lady,” she laughed. “Cancel the order.” “Why would I cancel it? This is a once-in-a-lifetime windfall!” she said, practically gleeful. “But your note said that whoever bought ‘the rest of my life’ would mean a divorce. Are you really going to go through with that?” I was fuming. “Of course. I’ve been wanting a divorce for a long time. Honestly, even if some rich lady hadn’t bought you, I would have filed in a few days anyway. You know I can’t stand you anymore—I resent you.” “So after the divorce, you’ll go to your rich lady, and I’ll go back to my first love. Win-win.” “And that $250,000? Consider it compensation for the hell you’ve put me through these last two years.” “I can’t believe you actually said that.” I knew her heart was with Tyson now. Staying together would be torture for both of us. The only reason I didn’t want a divorce right now was that I couldn’t stand the thought of it happening while I was down and out. “Dexter, please, just let me go,” she pleaded. “And if I say no?” “Then you’ll have a constant rain cloud over your head, and I’ll just keep on living my life without a care.” She smirked. “You shameless—” I started to yell. “Just words, and you’re already at your limit. What would you do if I actually followed through?” she taunted. “You…” She interrupted as her phone lit up again with a notification. The buyer had requested Samantha’s phone number, and soon enough, her phone started ringing. Samantha put it on speaker. A raspy voice crackled over the line. “I’ve already paid for your husband’s future. When are you going to file for divorce?” “Tomorrow. But… ma’am, you won’t go back on this, right?” “Of course not. Just bring the divorce certificate, and he’s mine.” “Thank you so much, ma’am!” Samantha could barely contain her excitement. She quickly saved the number, then immediately called Tyson. “Tyson, I have the money! Now you can start that gaming agency. You said you needed $200,000? Well, I’ve got $250,000!” she said, practically bursting with joy. Watching her celebrate while I sat there, sold, my blood boiled with rage. She’d pawned me off, taken the cash, and planned to pour it all into Tyson’s future. There was no way I’d let her win that easily. She wouldn’t cancel the order, but maybe the buyer would. “I’m going downstairs to grab some smokes,” I muttered, heading out. “Fine by me. I’ll get started on the divorce papers!” she said, all but beaming.
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