Charlie's boss was nearing fifty now. His current wife, barely thirty, was his second marriage. She had been his mistress, whom he wed once he had the money to do so.
I busied myself with the freezer, forcing a smile as I sorted the scattered items and moved the meat into place.
When I was done, I closed the door and smiled again, this time genuinely.
The quiet days of my husband’s absence was a relief I hadn’t known I needed.
Charlie had always been the star employee at work. He never complained or refused any task. However, the moment he stepped through our front door, he became a different person.
He treated me like I was nothing more than an object, a body he had bought for 40,000 dollars, the price of my dowry.
To him, I wasn’t a wife. I was a possession.
Sadly, the 40,000 dollars had gone to buy my brother a wedding house. My family had sold me for bricks and mortar.
After our marriage, my mother never asked if I was happy, as if her job was done and I existed solely to fund my brother’s future.
The worst moment of my life came when Charlie beat me so badly my eardrum bled. I fled, barefoot and in pajamas, through the winter night. A kind stranger took me to the hospital and the doctor said that my eardrum was nearly perforated.
Later, when I finally had the courage to file for divorce, Charlie stormed into my parents’ home and caused a scene, demanding the 40,000 dollars back.
My parents, without hesitation, knelt in front of me, begging me to stay with him. They insisted my brother needed that house, completely ignoring the hell I lived in.
Just as I was about to proceed with the divorce, I got pregnant. Charlie promised he would change for the sake of the baby and I believed him.
However, it wasn’t long before he grabbed my hair and smashed my head against the table. That was when I realized, the man in front of me would never change.
The day I miscarried, Charlie disappeared.
People pitied me. They said it was tragic, my husband running off like that. They didn’t understand.
I hoped he never came back.
Two months had passed since Charlie disappeared.
His department, frustrated with his unexplained absence, had grown impatient. Unable to fire him due to the strict employment regulations, they reported him to the police in a fit of anger.
Although I had expected this, my heart still skipped a beat the moment the police knocked on my door.