"What do you think? Driving the cab, same as always. Just dropped off a fare. Made about a hundred bucks."
"Is Felix asleep? Be careful heading out tonight. Oh, and happy anniversary. Once I've paid off the debt, I'll make it up to you. I promise."
I glanced at the clock. It was already past midnight.
I opened my mouth to speak, but a woman's petulant whine drifted through the phone.
"Babe, you promised you'd focus on me tonight! Why are you still on the phone? So mean! I'm gonna cry!"
Edmund's breath hitched. A thread of panic crept into his voice.
"There's a female passenger. Sounds like she had too much to drink. I have to go."
"And Louisa... try not to call while I'm working. It's not safe."
He hung up before I could respond.
I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. Not safe. Was that really the reason, or was he afraid of upsetting someone?
I set the phone down and looked around the cramped studio apartment.
Five years of marriage, and this was still our home. The same place we'd moved into as newlyweds.
The furniture was so old I'd lost count of how many times I'd patched and glued it back together.
When I married Edmund Mason, he'd just gone bankrupt. Millions in debt. And he came with a two-year-old son his late wife had left behind.
During the day, he worked his regular job. At night, he drove a cab to earn extra money.
I couldn't work full-time because someone had to take care of Felix, and I felt so guilty watching Edmund run himself ragged that I never let him lift a finger around the house.
Every night after the boy fell asleep, I'd head to a nightclub to mop floors and scrub toilets, hoping to shoulder even a fraction of the burden.
The jeans I was wearing had been washed so many times the cuffs were fraying. I couldn't bring myself to buy a new pair.
The Club Manager images from that video replayed in my mind: the multimillion-dollar mansion, the trophy encrusted with gold and diamonds, and Edmund cooking for someone else.
I couldn't name what I was feeling.
"God, you're so loud! Do you even know what time it is? Why haven't you left yet?"
My seven-year-old stepson, Felix Mason, emerged from his bedroom, rolling his eyes like a jaded little adult.
"Dad works himself to the bone to support this family, and all you do is sit around being lazy and bothering him."