"You want money? Fine. Show me your sincerity. I could use a guard dog at my door. Kneel here—one dollar per minute."
Naked humiliation. And I couldn't say a word against it.
I could only endure the mocking stares and kneel there like a wretch.
To torment me further, he called his new lover to come over.
Right in front of me, he carried her into his office.
That night, I knelt until dawn.
His lover moaned all night long.
The next morning, he opened the door and casually handed Eve Fox a check for ten million.
Then he turned and tossed me a hundred dollars.
He said that was all I was worth. Then he picked her up and walked away without looking back.
Even as I wept until my lungs gave out, begging him to save my mother, I couldn't get a shred of mercy.
By the time I reached the hospital clutching that hundred dollars, my mother had already stopped breathing.
Her eyes were still open. She died waiting to see my face.
I held her and cried until I blacked out.
The first thing I saw when I woke was a trending headline: Julian Gilbert, lighting sky lanterns at an auction, making a grand romantic gesture.
The media praised his generosity. Even his casual tips to the waitstaff were $50,000.
No one knew that Mrs. Gilbert—his own wife—couldn't scrape together $10,000, and had to watch her mother die right in front of her.
With a heart turned to ash, I called Julian and asked for a divorce.
All she got was a cold laugh.
"Done throwing your tantrum? What, upset you didn't get your money? Now you're resorting to threats?"
"Doris, you can't even figure out how to be a proper dog. I told you—I like obedient dogs!"
"Your mother's medical bills, her nursing care—who do you think paid for all of that? If you want her to keep breathing, you'll shut up and deal with it!"
Through the receiver came a woman's breathy moans.
Julian's breathing grew noticeably heavier.
The line went dead.
I hadn't even had the chance to tell him my mother was already gone.
The pain in my chest was unbearable.
Five years as Mrs. Gilbert, and every moment had been humiliating.
Even delivering divorce papers required me to wait in line.
Seeing the icy contempt in the assistant's eyes, the last of my composure shattered.
I grabbed a box cutter from the desk and pressed it against my throat.
Tears poured down my face as I screamed, "Get out of my way! I said I want to see Julian—now!"