On the day of the wedding, Dennis was so afraid I'd cause a scene that he had the bodyguards escort me to the dressing room early and keep watch over me.
Beryl pouted and said her gown was too heavy for her to put on her own shoes.
"Mrs. Sanchez, would you help me?"
Dennis frowned slightly and glanced at me on instinct.
I lowered my eyes, crouched down, lifted the hem of her gown, and slipped the shoes onto her feet.
Dennis stared at me with something unreadable on his face. His lips pressed together as if he wanted to speak, but Beryl nudged him.
"Babe, I'm thirsty. Could you go grab me some orange juice?"
He smiled at that, ruffled her hair, and turned to walk out the door.
The second he was gone, Beryl's foot slammed into my chest.
She looked down at me, lip curled in contempt.
"Veronica, you don't actually think I'm some kept little trophy who latched onto a rich man, do you?"
"You probably had no idea. Dennis and I have been together for almost ten years."
She saw the shock in my eyes and her smile turned poisonous.
"He said I was too young to suffer alongside him. So he dated me and married you."
"He was so worried about shortchanging me that the very first paycheck he earned, he told you debt collectors took it. The truth? He bought me a designer handbag. Every single time I felt the slightest bit wronged, he'd send people to your door to stage those debt-collection scenes, shake you down, and funnel every last dollar to me for more bags."
"One million eight hundred thousand dollars total. Oh, and a bracelet that wasn't worth much. I tossed it."
My whole body wouldn't stop shaking.
One million eight hundred thousand. That was every cent I'd earned during those years, working myself half to death to pay off Dennis's debts.
At my most exhausted, I'd collapsed right on the assembly line and nearly been dragged into the machinery.
When Dennis found out, he held me and couldn't stop trembling, telling me it was all his fault.
How pathetic that I'd actually patted his back and smiled, telling him I didn't blame him.
It was all a lie.
He'd been lying to me the entire time.
Beryl was still going, still talking: