Rage surged straight to my brain. That was my mother's—I had to get it back.
I rushed at Clementine and yanked the pendant from her neck.
She let out a soft cry of pain.
Dominic was on his feet instantly, shoving me aside, his brow furrowed in rebuke.
"Mildred, what do you think you're doing?"
I didn't want a confrontation with him. I clutched the pendant tight in my palm and turned to leave.
I could give up anything else.
But my mother's pendant—that, I had to take back.
Behind me came Clementine's faint sobbing. Then a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.
I met Dominic's cold gaze.
He held out his hand toward me.
"Mildred, we don't take other people's things."
Hearing those shameless words, I laughed until tears spilled from my eyes. My voice cracked as I confronted him.
"Other people's things? Dominic, this was my mother's. Her keepsake."
Clementine tugged weakly at Dominic's arm, tears falling like broken strings of pearls, pattering against the floor.
"It's alright, don't make things hard for her. Without the pendant, I'll just have trouble sleeping, that's all. Consider it my gift to her—a little something for our first meeting."
I bit down so hard I tasted blood. My vision blurred with unshed tears.
"You're claiming this belongs to you? Do I need to remind you? This was my mother's keepsake. I only sold it because I had no choice—to support Dominic's startup—"
Dominic's eyes darkened like still water. He cut me off, his voice sharp with wounded pride.
"Enough! Mildred, how many times are you going to throw your contributions in my face?"
"And what about my efforts? Without me, do you think you'd have had those good years?"
I lowered my gaze, forcing back the tears.
Good years? Three months after Dominic and I married, his company declared bankruptcy.
All I knew was that during those years, when I got sick, I didn't dare go to the hospital. I worked odd jobs around the clock. I couldn't bring myself to buy new clothes, get my hair done, or eat anything but the cheapest food.
And Clementine? Designer labels head to toe. Sleek, glossy black hair. A face pampered to porcelain perfection.
A sharp pain shot through my palm. Dominic was prying my fingers open by force.
Blood dripped from between them, falling drop by drop.
The man who used to tear up if I so much as nicked my finger—that same man was now making me bleed with his own hands.