"I'm not at the office," I said, cool as ever.

"Not at the office?" Eric's voice dropped ten degrees. "It's work hours, Hayley Henderson. You do realize leaving your post means losing a full day's pay, right? Company policy."

"I know, but I already—"

I was just about to say I'd resigned when Vivien's voice slid in, all soft and fake sweet.

"Eric, if Hayley doesn't want to, don't push her. I can handle it."

Eric turned syrupy in a blink. A total 180 from how he'd just snapped at me. "No, you were up late last night. You should rest today."

Vivien tried to play humble—"I'm not tired"—but Eric shut her down.

"I'm the boss. If I say rest, you rest. You gonna disobey me now?"

Vivien giggled. "I just feel bad for Hayley. It's a lot for her."

Eric snorted. "You think she works harder than you? You're out there locking down contracts. She's at the office doing nothing. And don't forget—she's my wife. Part-owner. It's literally her job to step up."

Just like that, everything I'd done? Wiped away with a shrug.

No anger, no jealousy, no heartbreak.

Just numb.

I'd been through it too many times.

Eric took my silence as a green light, his voice softening.

"Hayley, you really think I'm just dumping work on you? I'm training you. You're my wife. You should feel more invested in the company. Learn from Vivien—she was up till 4 a.m. last night. I've never seen a girl so driven and talented."

Vivien threw in a fake little laugh. "I think Hayley's great too."

Her words said one thing. Her tone said 'bless her heart.'

Eric, oblivious, laughed along. "If she were half as good as you, I'd be over the moon. You've handled every major project this year."

Perfectly in sync. Like always.

I stayed quiet. Not worth the energy.

Every single one of those "major projects" had been mine—until he handed them to Vivien. Eric knew it. Pretended he didn't. Five years of marriage, and he really thought I'd just swallow it.

"Anyway," he said, all casual, "Vivien and I have a dinner event tonight. Finish this and send it over soon."

Click. Hung up before I could even breathe.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Vivien had posted again.

Candlelit dinner. Her head tilted all sweet against Eric's shoulder. Right in front of them? A sleek little gift box—perfect ring size.

Scrolled down to last night's post—4 a.m. at a bar. Drinks, laughter, the whole flirty mess.

So her "hard work"? Partying.

And that "business dinner"?

A date.

I let out a short laugh. Wasn't even mad enough to call him out.

What was the point? He always had some excuse locked and loaded. And if I hit him with actual facts, all I'd get was silence—no apology, no guilt. Just that cold freeze he loved to use as punishment.

And every single time?

I was the one left cleaning up the mess.

Looking back, I should've just focused on making bank.

Feelings? Whatever. Money doesn't stab you in the back.

With that mindset, I walked out of the office, already planning my next move.

Then my phone buzzed—twice.

Eric had just dropped twenty grand on my card.

***

Everyone thought I married Eric for his money.

Funny, since he was the one draining me dry, holding all my cards.

He always said his cash was "tied up in the company," so every bill, every splurge, came out of my paycheck and side hustles.

I figured marriage was a team effort, not some scoreboard of who paid what. So I kept quiet.

Until the math stopped adding up. I made good money—but my account was always gasping for air.

So I checked the statements.

And there it was. Eric had been using my card to spoil Vivien.

Hundred-dollar lipsticks. Designer bags over a grand. On her birthday? He blew tens of thousands renting out a five-star hotel.

Meanwhile, I was still rocking the same outfits from two years ago. Anything over a hundred bucks? "Too pricey," he'd say, handing me a card with some bargain-bin excuse about "saving for our future."

When I called him out, he flipped it on me. Accused me of being paranoid. Gave me the cold shoulder like always. Swore he'd never touch my money again.

So yeah, thinking about all that—I called him.

Had to hit redial like ten times. Nothing.

So I walked straight into the bank and reported the card lost.

Not even sixty seconds later, Eric finally called.

"Sorry, I was busy and didn't see your calls. What's up?" Like we were just catching up or something.

"It's fine now," I said, keeping it cool.

"Oh. Weird. Your card's frozen."

"I know," I said. "I froze it."

"What'd you do that for?" he snapped. "You bored or something?"

"Take it however you want. But didn't you promise not to touch my card again?"

Silence.

I'd never picked a fight over money before.

Back when the company was just starting, I got seriously sick. Surgery ran $10,000, and Eric had already dumped all his money into some flop of a project.

He thought I'd lose it. Came to me crying, all apologies.

But I just hugged him and said money didn't matter—he could use mine. No questions asked.

I thought giving him my heart would bring us closer.

Turns out, I was just making it easier for him to take more.

Eric went quiet for two seconds, then sighed.

Still playing the victim.

"Alright, I get it. You're still mad I skipped the honeymoon. This is your way of punishing me," he said. "Honestly, Hayley, I thought you were more mature. Guess not.

"Fine. I'll drop everything and take you on that honeymoon, happy now?

"I didn't bring my card. Just unlock yours and stop making this harder than it needs to be. Tonight's event matters."

"I'll give you ten minutes. If you don't do it, I’m not gonna let this slide."

Eric tossed out that little threat right before hanging up, like he was scared I might actually say no.

Back then, anytime he said he was mad, I'd cave. Not because I feared his anger—I just didn't want to pile more stress on him. Thought he was drowning in work, thought I was helping.

Now I knew better.

The chaos? Always his. I was just the one stuck cleaning it up.

Why keep doing that?

[You forgot your card? Ask your secretary. Or Vivien. This trip was for her project anyway. Let her pay for it.]

I fired off the message, shut my phone down, and headed home to pack.

I paid for the house. Every cent.

It was his favorite layout, his pick on the flooring. I even planned to put both our names on the deed... but something held me back. In the end, I wrote down only mine.

Looking back? Thank God I did.

Once everything was packed, I listed the house with a realtor.

The next day, I marched into the courthouse and handed over the signed divorce papers.

Back when we first signed them, I was still wondering how to break it to Eric. But he was already halfway out the door, dragging his suitcase like we were on a tight schedule.

He didn't even glance at the papers. Just flipped to the last page and signed.

"You should read it," I said, still hanging on to some tiny scrap of hope.

"No need. You're my wife. Don't I trust you?"

I smiled—cold and bitter.

Funny. He trusted Vivien with everything else.

That so-called trust? Just another way to brush me off.

Too busy chasing a flight. Too eager to join Vivien on "their" honeymoon.

I handed over the papers. The clerk said I needed proof—from him—that the relationship was actually over.

So I pulled out the receipts: photos of Eric and Vivien posing like a couple. Even brought the wedding photo he'd smashed for her.

Still, the clerk shook her head. "He has to say it himself."

Seriously?

Frustrated, I turned my phone back on.

It lit up like a Christmas tree—missed calls, unread messages. All from Eric.

Since I hadn't unfrozen the card, he'd cycled through the usual: begging, threatening.

The last message? Full-on rage. Swearing at me. Saying he wanted a divorce.

I showed it to the clerk.

She still wasn't budging.

So I called him. Took forever for him to answer.

"Eric, about our relationship—"

"What relationship? You're wasting your breath. If you don't apologize to Vivien, I will divorce you!"

He cut me off, cold. Like he thought I was calling to grovel.

Then he hung up.

That did it. The clerk's face finally softened as she processed the paperwork. "It'll be finalized in a month."

Eric wasn't serious. He never was.

He'd tossed around "divorce" like a threat for years—whenever he got pissed.

And I always folded. Always made peace, gave in, held things together.

He was convinced I'd never actually leave.

To him, "divorce" wasn't an ending. It was a weapon.