I walked into the kitchen, moving slowly, and started frying eggs.
This is my life. I’m cooking for a man who doesn’t appreciate me. Living in a house that, legally, isn’t even mine anymore.
I had been so trusting, so foolish. At one point, I had signed all the house documents in his name, thinking it would be “easier” for him to manage finances. I had given up everything, believing that marriage meant trust.
Behind me, Carter sighed loudly.
“Are the eggs burnt? You always overcook them.”
I bit my tongue. No matter what I did, it was never good enough.
“You know what? Forget it. I’ll grab something on the way to work.”
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