Next, I headed to the embassy. Filled out the necessary forms. Submitted the paperwork. I was done being a citizen of Troy’s world. Soon, I’d be gone. And this nightmare would be nothing but a memory I wouldn’t visit again.
By the time I stepped back outside, the sun was warm on my face. My chest still hurt—but for the first time, the pain wasn’t sharp. Just dull… survivable.
That’s when I remembered Troy’s credit card. I never used it—not once. Never asked for gifts, jewelry, nothing. I’d been the perfect wife on paper and an invisible one in practice.
So I opened my phone and started swiping.
Designer coats. Cashmere dresses. Heels so tall they looked like weapons. A sapphire clutch I didn’t need. Everything I saw—I bought.
Screw it.
I deserved this.
For every night I sat alone in that freezing marital bed. For every time I cooked him dinner and watched him throw it away untouched. For every rejection, every bruise my heart collected in silence—I deserved this.
And of course, Troy noticed.
Halfway through the fifth store, my phone buzzed.
TROY: “What’s going on with the card?”
I smirked and texted back without skipping a beat: