The Mistress Maxed His Black Card

As I grit my teeth and buy the last box of discounted shrimp, a young woman dressed head to toe in designer brands is picking out imported seafood beside me.

She glances at me and casually drops a king crab into my cart.

"It's the holidays. Treat yourself better," she says with a carefree smile. "I'll pay for everything you buy today."

I am shocked when I see the five-figure price tag. I quickly try to decline her by waving my hands frantically.

She pulls out a black card and shrugs. "It's fine. My sugar daddy gives me more money than I can spend. If I don't use it, he'll get mad."

I force a laugh. "Sounds like he's really generous to you."

"He's alright, I guess. I can't spend money as fast as he earns it," she says nonchalantly.

After a slight pause, she goes on, "Speaking of which, his girlfriend is pretty dumb. She works nonstop for years just to help him pay off a debt that doesn't even exist. When I say I want him to cook on New Year's Eve, he immediately ditches his girlfriend to come be with me."

I freeze for a moment. My boyfriend, Eric Sterling, is in debt.

Just as I am thinking it can't be that much of a coincidence, my phone buzzes with a message from Eric.

He texts, "Anne, the company assigned me to an extra shift tonight. I get triple the pay. Buy yourself something nice to eat. I'll be home tomorrow."

A sharp ringing filled my ears, and the world around me spun into a blur.

When I didn't reply, Eric called me.

"Anne, why aren't you saying anything?" he asked gently.

As I listened to the familiar indulgence in his voice, I couldn't help but ask, "Can you come home today? We don't need the money anymore, okay?"

He paused briefly, then let out a soft chuckle. "Do you miss me that much? After we finish paying off the debt, we'll have all the time in the world."

Someone called for him in the background, and he quickly hung up.

I stared blankly at the hundred dollars he had just sent.

Next to me, the young woman let out a helpless sigh. "My sugar daddy just transferred another hundred thousand dollars and told me to buy something to spice things up. But honestly, nothing here costs that much. I'll get you a few outfits with the rest."

Before I could even respond, Susan Winslow had taken my hand, settled the bill at the supermarket, and ushered me into a high-end boutique.

As I stared at the string of numbers on the tags, I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh.

After college, Eric's startup had collapsed. He was buried under debt and sank into a deep depression, and I worked multiple jobs every day just to see a spark of life return to his eyes.

For five long years, I had scrimped and survived on plain bread and water. Yet here I was, wearing clothes that cost over 20 thousand dollars each.

At the thought, a sour, bitter ache rose in my nose.

Susan kept babbling beside me.

"You know, my sugar daddy actually forced his girlfriend to have three abortions, just for me."

Something shattered in my mind. My hand went instinctively to my stomach.

I had lost three children, too.

The first time, I had been rushing a food delivery when a luxury car knocked me sprawling.

The second, I had knelt in the pouring rain for two hours, crying at a stranger's funeral just to earn 70 dollars.

The third, Eric had wept, telling me we couldn't afford a child, and led me to a small clinic to get the pills.

On countless nights, he would wake from nightmares, clutching me as he whispered apologies. He used to say, "Anne, when I make a comeback, I'll give you a stable home."

Susan didn't notice my face growing pale and continued, "That foolish woman didn't even know what to say when she realized she had crashed into a luxury car."