Charlie's boss was nearing fifty now. His current wife, barely thirty, was his second marriage. She had been his mistress, whom he wed once he had the money to do so.
I busied myself with the freezer, forcing a smile as I sorted the scattered items and moved the meat into place.
When I was done, I closed the door and smiled again, this time genuinely.
The quiet days of my husband’s absence was a relief I hadn’t known I needed.
Charlie had always been the star employee at work. He never complained or refused any task. However, the moment he stepped through our front door, he became a different person.
He treated me like I was nothing more than an object, a body he had bought for 40,000 dollars, the price of my dowry.
To him, I wasn’t a wife. I was a possession.
Sadly, the 40,000 dollars had gone to buy my brother a wedding house. My family had sold me for bricks and mortar.
After our marriage, my mother never asked if I was happy, as if her job was done and I existed solely to fund my brother’s future.