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1212words2026-01-27 09:12

Julian West realized I hadn't submitted an expense request to him in three days.
He must have thought I'd finally learned how to be a proper wealthy family's wife, because he sent me a text:
"I've restarted your foster mother's treatment. Behave yourself from now on — don't keep lying and asking for money!"

"I realize people from your poverty backgrounds have struggles, but my money isn't that easy to trick."
What he didn't know was, by the time that message arrived, I had already drafted a divorce agreement.
When I left, the only thing I could take with me, was the white tee and jeans I'd worn into the marriage.
Nobody believed that the glamorous Mrs. West couldn't muster a decent outfits.
Every penny I spent privately, had to go through the expense-approval system(EAS).
All my clothes and jewelry were kept in a locked dressing room and a triple-secure safe.

If I needed anything, I had to apply to Julian's executive assistant, Rachel Hale.
He looked down on my background and assumed I'd develop reckless spending habits the instant I had money.
So he micromanaged it all.
Three days earlier, my foster mother had fallen gravely ill. I requested $20,000 for the operation.

Rachel deliberately delayed the EAS approval, and my foster mother died in her hospital bed while I waited.
Julian never knew I'd tolerated him for years only because of the medical resources under his control—resources that could save my foster mother!
Now that she was gone, there was nothing left for me to stay!
...
I told Julian I wanted a divorce.
He refused.
He answered coldly with only three words, "Stop the drama."
When he spoke, his eyes never left the laptop screen in front of him.
I kept my gaze down but my voice steady. "I'm really seriously talking to you. I want a divorce."
He inhaled, stood, and said with an expressionless face, "The pause in your foster mother's treatment was approved by me."
"It had nothing to do with Rachel — she was only following my orders."
"If you hadn't stormed into the office and caused a scene, I wouldn't have had to teach you a lesson."
"I already restarted the treatment yesterday. My time is valuable, I don't have patience for your tantrums!"
Without waiting for me to reply, he turned and left, certain I'd come crawling back with my pride bruised —
Humbly flattering him again, as before.
Even if he said to my face, "Don't be such a sycophant — it makes me sick," I would smile and stay mute, keep playing the obedient, hardworking housewife.
But now it didn't matter whether the treatment resumed.
If, three days earlier, Julian had answered the phone, maybe I would still be groveling — flattering him, flattering Rachel, accepting everything.
He never had patience to take my calls.
At that moment, I begged him not to hang up and to hear me out.
But a single sentence from Rachel overrode me:
"Is it because I reminded her to follow procedures, that makes her upset?"
She feigned wounded innocence.
"I didn't mean anything else. I just don't want her to keep the chaotic, planless habits from her old life."
"So I tightened the process a little. She'll learn to be more disciplined."
After that, Julian became even less willing to listen to me.
Ignoring my pleas, he said coldly, "Do what Rachel says."
That was how it always was when I needed something from him.
"I'm busy. Speak to Executive Assistant Rachel."
"Listen to Rachel."
"Do whatever Rachel tells you to do."
I was his wife in name only.
I had no dignity.
I wasn't allowed to go out at will, even for routine social engagements I had to apply through Rachel for approval.
Each time she dismissed my requests with a evil smile.
"Please rewrite the applications — the details aren't thorough enough."
"The event ends at ten, so why did you put midnight?"
"Why do you always do this? Didn't I tell you not to submit until it's perfect?"
She'd always push the time right up to the deadline, then smile warmly as I rushed to the venue in a mess for a single piece of jewelry or an outfit.
Occasionally, I would be late for this.
Julian would look displeased and say, "Lena, don't you have any sense of punctuality? You can't even handle small responsibilities — how will you ever match Rachel?"
I couldn't do these small things well.
I was always late because of the secretary's chokehold.
He didn't see it, or he just didn't care.
It's as if he knew very well that my adoptive mother's illness couldn't be stopped from taking medicine.
Yet he remained impatient on the phone, "I told you many times — if it's urgent, go find Rachel. She'll give you the money, won't she?"
Getting money from Rachel was always hard.
"What emergency suddenly requires a $20,000 lump sum? Are you making excuses to ask for money?"
"Twenty thousand is not a small number. Please attach an itemized list and I'll approve it — for now it's rejected."
I explained that it was a prepayment and that the itemized bill would only be available at discharge.
Rachel smiled as if amused.
"Oh I see — Hospitals can fake documents, you know. I'm not accusing you — just saying it's possible."
So the best rescue window kept being delayed by Rachel.
By the time I finally got the funds, even the best medical team could not save her.
The hatred and pain wove through my chest like fine barbs. I felt as if something had smothered me.
This marriage was a prison.
I had to escape.
When I decided what I would do next, an enormous weight lifted off me, as if the invisible shackles I'd worn for years were gone.
So when Rachel posted a provocative social-media update, I felt nothing.
I calmly took a screenshot, saved it, and even — out of a quiet irony — liked it.
Whenever Rachel was involved, Julian's messages came quickly.
"Rachel's been doing her job well lately. I'm taking her out to dinner as her boss."
Maybe Rachel had said something to him again.
He naturally added, "You already liked her post. If you delete it, people might misinterpret Rachel."
"Leave her a comment that praising her work — consider it an encouragement from both of us."
I had zero interest to respond.
But my anger wouldn't settle.
I complied with Julian's request and left a comment for Rachel:
"Assistant Rachel is professional and fair. Her little EAS vetoes show she knows how to carry weight. Keep it up — may you thrive on climbing the ladder by saving every penny for the company."
"Every penny you save for the group now, will be the common property when you married Julian. I give you a thumbs up."
After posting, I set the phone aside and began packing.
The phone kept ringing during this time, I didn't answer.
Packing didn't take long.
Everything valuable that belonged to m,e had been tightly locked in a triple-locked safe.
For years I'd been like a temporary guest, even my traces were hardly left behind.
Once I let go, I suddenly understand.