I said it quietly:
"Ethan. Let's get a divorce."
The word divorce made him pause. Then he laughed, low and mocking.
"Divorce? Alex Simmons, what tantrum is this? You're the one who took a million-dollar contract and sold yourself to the Gilbert family. And now you want out? Could you really walk away from all this?"
His fingertips traced down my cheek.
"High IQ. Pretty face. You were always the perfect match for me. So why not just behave and stay Mrs. Gilbert?"
His words dragged me back seven years.
Grandma had collapsed. The medical bills were astronomical. I'd just graduated—I had nothing.
Right when I was about to break, I scrolled past a video. Richard Gilbert, publicly advertising for a daughter-in-law.
The posting spelled out every requirement: IQ, appearance. Promised generous compensation.
I had no other options. So I went to him.
Maybe I checked all the boxes. The moment Richard saw me, his face lit up. Without a word, he handed over one million dollars and solved my crisis on the spot.
I'd carried this debt for seven years, willing to spend all that time repaying it—yet I still never fulfilled the contract's requirement of getting pregnant.