For years, I'd paid for everything. Their food. Their bills. My brother's tuition. Every expense. Out of my pocket.
And this was what I got in return: three greedy mouths demanding I sell my dignity.
I'd planned to leave them the several million I'd saved for a marital home before I left.
Now? My heart turned to ice.
I walked out.
Behind me, they screamed.
"Where are you going? We say a few words for your own good and you throw a tantrum?"
"Dad, ignore him. Let him go. He's forgotten who he is. Once he leaves that rich lady, who's gonna treat him like a human being?"
The door slammed shut, cutting off the venom.
The streets were empty. Wind-swept. Bleak.
The night was cold.
But the loneliness was colder.
My phone buzzed.
One in the morning.
Natalie.
"Where are you?" Demanding. Impatient. "I'm at the new house. Why aren't you here?"
I stood in the dark, the wind biting through my jacket. "Do you need something?"
A pause. "Are you crying?"
"I'm not crying." My voice came out hoarse. "If you have something to say, say it. I'm busy."
She seemed thrown. "Today in the car—you mentioned resigning. I don't know what got into you, but I think we should talk this over properly."
"There's no need."
I took a breath.
Said the words I'd held inside for so long.
"I don't want to marry you anymore."
