On Black Friday, while I was trying to score $1 flash deals on Amazon for contraceptives, Daniel Belmont was busy clearing Sabrina Keller’s cart. A brand-new triple-fold smartphone. A luxury face cream priced in the five figures. Sabrina gleefully posted on Instagram Stories: “Loving someone is like tending a garden. My boss says I’m worth it.” Suddenly, I realized how meaningless this relationship had become. I quietly deleted every item connected to him from my Amazon cart and booked myself a luxurious trip to New Zealand. …… Content Daniel Belmont’s executive assistant, Sabrina Keller, just posted another Instagram Story. This time, it featured multiple shots of him. His back, wearing an apron as he made ginger sugar tea. A grinning selfie of the two of them in the mirror. A close-up of him asleep on her lap, his profile softened by sleep. “Triple fold—it doesn’t matter how it folds, he’s still so handsome.” Scrolling up, I found her bragging about her emptied shopping cart. Dozens of items, totaling over $20,000. I glanced at my Amazon page. Twenty pounds of budget laundry detergent. Two massive packs of tissues. A new mop, broom, and toilet brush set. And, of course, the $1 contraceptives. All together, barely over a thousand bucks. Daniel had told me he had a dinner meeting that evening and wouldn’t come home because he didn’t want to disturb me if he came back drunk. Apparently, he was at Sabrina’s loft instead. My heart felt heavy as I called him. But the voice on the other end wasn’t his—it was Sabrina’s. “Hi, Claire. The boss is in the shower. If there’s anything you need, you can just tell me instead,” she chirped sweetly. The wave of hurt I’d been holding back vanished, replaced by disgust. Her ploy was crude and outdated, but it worked. I felt sick. “Sabrina, cut the act. You’re not in a position to represent my husband.” I hung up, deleted every single item in my cart, and headed to the kitchen. I had a pot of hangover soup simmering on the stove. Every time Daniel had a late night, I’d wait up to make sure he’d have something warm when he came home. This time, I poured the entire pot into a container and brought it next door to Martha Griffin, my neighbor. Afterward, I took the expensive ceramic pot I’d specially bought to make his soups—a $500 purchase I’d justified as “good for his stomach”—and smashed it in the garbage area downstairs. I’d spent years buying him expensive things, making sure he had the best of everything. Yet here I was, scavenging Black Friday deals, pinching pennies on essentials, all to keep our home running smoothly. For what? To play the role of the perfect, frugal, self-sacrificing housewife? Not anymore. I grabbed Daniel’s card and went on a spree: seasonal designer handbags, couture dresses, and, after some thought, a luxury trip to New Zealand. All together, less than $10,000. I stared at the total in a daze. I’d spent years putting his needs above mine, always finding ways to save—even though he was the CEO of Belmont Enterprises. And now, all the money I’d saved went to tending his “flower garden.” I was supposed to be his partner. But I wasn’t as bright or lively as his executive assistant. Suddenly, it all felt meaningless. That was when Daniel finally called. The moment I answered, he started yelling, his voice sharp with anger. I could even hear Sabrina softly crying in the background. “Claire Hudson, what gives you the right to humiliate my people?” So, Sabrina was “his person” now, was she? “All you do is ask for money and stir up drama. What else are you even good for?” “She’s so much younger than you—a kid, really. How can you treat her like that? Have some decency!” “I—” He didn’t give me a chance to speak. “Do you even know your place anymore? You’re in your thirties—stop acting like some jealous teenage girl.” His words hit me like blows, one after another, leaving me breathless. “Why don’t you take a good look at yourself in the mirror? Stop meddling in my business. I don’t have time for your petty tantrums.” And with that, he hung up. Not long after, Sabrina sent me a private message. “Claire, you’re older and more experienced. Can you tell me if this is bad for me?” Attached was a photo of an emergency contraceptive. “I want to take it, but the boss said no. He’s worried it’ll hurt me. He cares so much.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I began packing for New Zealand. Maybe the time away would help me clear my head and figure out what I wanted. But life rarely goes as planned. Scott Emerson, the guide coordinating my trip, called to let me know that the weather in New Zealand would be stormy for the next week, and we’d have to delay the trip. Disappointed, I set my packed suitcase aside. Two days later, Daniel finally came home. We hadn’t spoken since the argument. He’d become so distant over time. He always claimed to be “busy with work.” Our communication had dwindled to almost nothing. If I didn’t message him first, he wouldn’t reach out at all. At home, his phone notifications never stopped, and his eyes were always glued to the screen. When he walked through the door, I jumped. I’d almost convinced myself he’d stayed with Sabrina. Daniel glanced at me on the couch, then at the dusty floor, his brow furrowing. “Claire, the floor’s dirty.” I knew. When I didn’t respond, his frown deepened. He set a mango-flavored ice cream cake in front of me and softened his tone. “Still mad? Fine, I was harsh, but you’re being petty—” He cut himself off abruptly. “Forget it. Just try the cake, okay?” I pushed it away. His expression darkened, but before he could say anything, I said, “I’m on my period. Can’t eat cold stuff.” Only then did he notice the heating pad in my lap and my pale face. Finally, he relented and called a cleaning service. He sent me to rest in the bedroom and even brought me ginger sugar tea. My cramps were unbearable, and I drifted off into a restless sleep. In my dreams, old memories resurfaced. Daniel used to say he loved coming home to see me bustling around the house. It made him feel grounded. Like we were building a real home. So, I’d fired the cleaning lady and taken on everything myself. He used to remember my cycle. Before I even noticed, he’d clear out the freezer and stock up on chamomile tea. Now, the tea was at Sabrina’s. And his first thought coming home was to criticize the floor. I woke up still unsettled. The heating pad was gone. From the muffled voices outside, I realized I wasn’t alone in the house. Throwing on a blanket, I stepped out—and there she was. Sabrina, sitting on the couch, wearing Daniel’s shirt, her legs tucked under her. She was sitting on my favorite stuffed animal. “Stop playing dumb. No sneaking ice cream behind my back,” Daniel scolded playfully, handing her my heating pad. “Just one bite? Please?” she pouted. Daniel chuckled indulgently and offered her his half-eaten popsicle. She leaned in and bit into it, her lips brushing where his had been. Noticing me, Sabrina’s face lit up in a bright, saccharine smile, ice cream smudging her lips. “Claire! You’re up! Have you eaten? Want some water?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was the lady of the house. Daniel quickly withdrew the popsicle, looking sheepish. “Sabrina’s place had a power outage, so she’s staying here. Don’t overthink it.” “Of course. Safety first.” My calm seemed to relax him. I poured myself a glass of water and returned to the bedroom. Daniel’s focus was entirely on Sabrina. He didn’t even notice that the tea in the kettle was cold. I’d told him earlier—I couldn’t drink cold things. But, of course, he’d forgotten.
I buried myself under the covers and opened my phone. Over the years, I hadn’t been idle. I’d written several novels and saved up quite a bit of money. One of my books had even been considered for adaptation, but the producers insisted I join the production team, so I declined. Back then, I had to stay home to take care of Daniel Belmont. But now, it was time to plan for myself. Maybe it was time to end this marriage. If Sabrina Keller wanted my leftovers, she could have them. I messaged Linda Mitchell, the producer, and she was thrilled. We scheduled a meeting to discuss details. My mood lifted. Ignoring the laughter outside my bedroom, I locked the door and went back to sleep. I slept peacefully for the first time in ages. The next morning, I woke up early. My cramps had eased, and for once, I felt like treating myself. I decided to go out shopping for new clothes. After all, I still had a trip to New Zealand to look forward to once the flights resumed. Around midday, I sat on a bench at Westfield Grand Mall, resting from the day’s shopping. Then, out of nowhere, I spotted Sabrina. She was practically skipping into a luxury store, clinging to Daniel’s arm. She was glowing with excitement, admiring the displays, while Daniel followed, smiling indulgently. He called over a sales associate and requested a few handbags. Sabrina tried each one, striking little poses in front of the mirror, her sweet laughter filling the store. At one point, she said something that made Daniel playfully tap her on the forehead. From where I sat, Sabrina reminded me of myself. The carefree, blissful me from when Daniel and I first got together. That forehead tap—it was a gesture Daniel used to love doing to me. I felt a wave of revulsion. Had he found someone who looked like me just to relive our past? I called Daniel. Across the walkway, I could see him clearly. His expression didn’t change as he answered and calmly claimed he was “in a meeting at the office.” “Daniel, why don’t you turn around?” In the next second, our eyes locked. His face cracked, just slightly. I stood and strode into the store, yanking the handbag from Sabrina’s hands. She flinched, retreating behind Daniel and tugging at his jacket nervously. “Daniel, you promised me this bag when it first launched. So why is it in her hands now?” Daniel stepped forward, shielding Sabrina. “Claire, don’t cause a scene here. Sabrina’s new to the workforce—she needs a few things to make an impression.” This bag was a rare find. Westfield Grand Mall only had one in stock. I refused to let go. “But you promised it to me.” “Do you really have to make such a fuss over something so trivial?” Sabrina was already in tears, her sobs echoing softly through the store. Daniel suddenly exploded, snatching the bag from my hands. He grabbed a nearby letter opener and slashed the leather to shreds in a matter of seconds. The force of his movements threw me off balance, and I slammed my lower back into the corner of a table. “I’m buying this bag,” he snapped at the associate. “Please have it destroyed and disposed of. And while you’re at it, send every new-season bag and a selection of classics to this address.” He rattled off Sabrina’s address before turning to wipe her tears with his fingers, his voice tender. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, no one will bully you.” I clutched my throbbing back, unable to stand upright. “Claire Hudson, you’re a housewife. What do you even need a handbag for? I’d rather destroy it than let you have it. What can you possibly do about it? You’ve become absolutely unbearable.” And just like that, the fragile thread holding my composure snapped.
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