After college, I finally gave in and agreed to be with him.
At first, things were great—he was sweet and caring said he'd always protect me.
But not even two years into the marriage, everything changed. He started looking down on me—especially my face.
He'd cover it with a pillow or some clothes, and he kept telling me to work out, to look better for him.
And he loved buying me lingerie.
"What's wrong? Can't bear to take it off?"
Ricky smirked, snapping the strap of my bra.
He expected me to get flustered or angry, but I didn't give him the satisfaction. I took off the bra, threw on a T-shirt and coat, and dragged my suitcase out.
"Tomorrow at nine. Meet me at the Marriage Bureau. Don't worry—I'll leave with nothing. I don't want a single penny from you, Ricky."
I slammed the door and left, hearing his rage explode inside.
I found a cheap hotel to crash for the night. By nine the next morning, I was waiting outside the office without having breakfast.
I waited and waited—until noon when the staff went on break—and Ricky never showed up.
That left me no choice but to call him.
"Where the hell are you? Didn't we agree to meet at nine to get divorced?"
That jerk sounded more annoyed than I was.
"Can you stop with the drama, Christina? Miley's been feeling guilty about our fight last night—so guilty she got a fever and ended up in the hospital. Even while burning up, she's telling me not to be mad at you! Can't you have a little decency?"
"If you've got any sense left, come see her."
Then he hung up and sent me his location.
I wasn't going there for Miley. I was going to drag him to sign the damn divorce papers.
The maid opened the door.
Ricky had set Miley up in a luxury downtown apartment, complete with a maid to wait on her. And there he was, personally taking care of her.
Meanwhile, I'd been left at home to rot like a washed-up housewife. Even on my birthday, he brought his friends over and humiliated me on my day.
Inside the apartment, I saw Miley lying on the bed, pale and delicate while Ricky spoon-fed her soup.
"Drink a little more. You'll feel better."
"That crazy, ugly Christina is getting worse. Don't take her seriously—it's not your fault."
I stood by the door, arms crossed, and gave him a slow clap.
"If I'm so crazy and ugly, why not divorce me already? Wouldn't that make Miley happy? Isn't that what you want?"