But Ricky wouldn't let go. In his anger, he slammed it to the floor. The zipper burst, and my clothes spilled out everywhere.
He stared at the mess for a moment, then laughed coldly.
"Fine. You want to leave? Then leave behind everything I bought for you—including the clothes you're wearing!"
I knelt and picked out the designer clothes he'd bought me back when he cared about how I looked as his wife.
"You can't dress cheap," he used to say. "You represent me."
I started unbuttoning the shirt I was wearing to change into my old cotton T-shirt.
But Ricky stopped me. He hooked his finger around my bra strap and snapped it.
"What about this? Having second thoughts?"
I used to be pretty. Not stunning, but not bad-looking either.
I had admirers back in school. Ricky was one of them—a spoiled rich boy who only wanted to chase me for fun.
Then one night, he got mugged after showing off at a party. I was working part-time at a restaurant nearby. When I stepped out to take out the trash, I saw it happening.
Without thinking, I called the cops and threw everything I could at the mugger.
I struggled to escape, and the mugger's knife slashed across my face.