Chapter 3 YOU ARE WASHED UP

Victor's mind snapped into focus, his vision and hearing sharpening instantly. He frowned, staring at Gloria in disbelief.

"Yes," she said venomously, forcing herself to appear confident and unyielding, not the desperate wife he always dismissed. "I won't repeat myself again. I want a divorce."

Victor had cheated on her and stopped having sex with her since she was six months pregnant. He complained that she had gotten fat and had stretch marks all over her stomach. Gloria clung to that betrayal to steel her resolve. She wasn't the one at fault.

But God knew how her heart ached as she thrust the papers at him. One signature from him, and their marriage would end.

"You want to divorce me?" Victor asked. He was obviously shocked; he never expected his obedient wife to ask him for a divorce.

The word ignited something in Victor. He blinked rapidly, scanning the document. And it was real, a legitimate divorce filing.

Gloria meant it, but divorce was the last thing on his mind. He would never let her go, no matter what.

Victor craved the stability she'd provided. Despite his affairs, he had given her a life of comfort, the kind most women envied. How dare she demand a divorce? His mother never asked his father for divorce, despite his father cheating on his mother countless times. In fact, his father used to bring his mistresses to his matrimonial bed, and his mother would serve them diligently without complaining. So how dare Gloria ask for a divorce?

With wealth, she could have whatever she pleased-a yacht, designer wardrobes, anything. Yet Gloria was frugal, never extravagant enough for him to criticize. Money was his only leverage as a man.

"Is this about money?" Victor asked, waving the papers dismissively. "If you're upset because I slept with someone else, treat yourself. Buy a new bag, a dress, a car-you have an unlimited gold card. Buy whatever you want. Just drop this nonsense." That was how his father used to shut his mom up.

"If this is a joke, Mrs. Gloria Anderson, it's not funny. Go to the kitchen and make me a hangover soup. My head is pounding; that secretary of mine wore me out."

"I'm not Gloria Anderson anymore, you idiot," she snapped, snatching the papers back and pointing to her signature. "I'm using my maiden name now. See for yourself. I want nothing to do with you." Mr. Victor Anderson.

Victor squinted at the name: Gloria Zachary. She was dead serious, and it baffled him. Divorce him? In her dreams.

"Fuck this," he muttered, his headache pounding harder with every word she spoke. "I'm not in the mood for your crap, Gloria. Stop being stubborn; it will only make me angry with you. I gave you everything you need: money, stability, a fucking roof over your dumb head. What more do you need?"

Gloria clapped a hand over her mouth, stunned. He still couldn't see her side, couldn't fathom the pain he had been inflicting on her and their daughter.

Ten years of marriage, eight of them pure agony.

He'd confined her to the role of dutiful housewife, raising their daughter while he chased other women outside, never questioning his movements, and he acted as if it were nothing.

"I gave you a secure life, a beautiful home, and our daughter!" Victor shouted proudly. "So stop all this nonsense right now and tell me what you really want. This divorce blackmail ends now! Enough of your silly joke."

"I WANT A FUCKING DIVORCE, YOU BASTARD!" Gloria screamed, slamming her fist on his chest.

But she was petite, her blows harmless against his solid frame. Victor's irritation flared. He seized her wrists, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp in pain.

Leaning in close, his face mere inches from hers, he repeated his question, as if she hadn't heard him.

"You want a divorce? Don't be foolish. Let me remind you of your roots, you ungrateful bitch. I pulled you out of poverty. You were broke when I met you in high school; you couldn't even afford your college loans. You and your poverty-stricken family have lived off my money since we married, so if you think you can survive without me, then you need to have a rethink.

"Gloria, you're just a housewife. You are only good at taking care of the house chores and our daughter, so leave the decision-making to me. I'm doing you a favor," he pressed, convinced his words would break her. "Sure, I have my flings, but I have never brought any of my mistresses to our matrimonial home, where Annabel and you could see them. And it didn't stop the money flowing to you both."

"So, what will it take to end this divorce charade? You'll be left with nothing if you push it. Besides, you are already 30 years old; where do you want to start from?"

Gloria gazed at the man she had loved since high school, the one she'd given her body and heart to, the father of her child, the one who'd vowed eternal fidelity.

Tears welled in her eyes, one slipping down her cheek despite her efforts to control it.

"Love and respect."

"What?"

"I need love and respect from you, Victor Anderson," she said firmly.

For once, Victor was at a loss for words. The words felt alien, unheard from her lips in years. He thought she would ask for something else.

"Victor Anderson, look me in the eyes and tell me the truth: Do you still love me? Do you see me as your rightful wife? Why do you keep hurting me over and over again? Tell me why you hate me so much."