Chapter 2

The women continued their tirade, their voices echoing in the grand living room.

"Our Mark is a self-made millionaire! He built his company from the ground up!" one of them crowed, gesturing around my house as if it were proof of his success.

"That' s right! He' s a big shot in Silicon Valley. You' re just lucky he chose you. You' re a freeloader!" another chimed in, adjusting her cheap polyester blouse.

"He probably only married you because you begged him. A woman who can' t even produce an heir is worthless."

I pieced it all together in my mind. The company they were talking about was my father' s, where I was a senior executive. The car Mark drove, the house they were standing in, the very clothes on his back-it was all mine. It was all from my family' s wealth.

My husband, the simple, devoted man I thought I knew, had been playing a role for everyone. To me, he was the loving, submissive husband. To his family, he was a titan of industry, a self-made man who had a freeloader wife he was too kind to get rid of. He was living a complete fantasy, and he was using me and my family' s name to do it. The realization left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Brenda, seeing that her words weren' t breaking me, decided to escalate. She strode over to me, her face a mask of contempt, and shoved a crumpled piece of paper into my chest.

"Since you clearly have no proper upbringing," she spat, "I' ve written down the Davis family rules. You will follow them to the letter. Memorize them."

I unfolded the paper. It was a list of the most insane, archaic demands I had ever seen.

1. Wake up at 4:30 AM every morning to prepare breakfast for the entire family.

2. All of Mark' s clothes, including his underwear and socks, must be washed by hand.

3. You are not to speak at the dinner table unless spoken to.

4. You must give birth to a son within the year. You will continue to have children until you have produced ten sons to carry on the Davis family name.

5. Your salary and all assets will be turned over to your mother-in-law for management.

I read the last rule and actually laughed out loud. It was a dry, humorless sound. Turn over my assets? They couldn' t even comprehend the number of zeros that would entail.

"You find this funny?" Brenda snarled.

"I find it pathetic," I replied, my voice dripping with scorn. I crumpled the ridiculous list into a tight ball and tossed it over my shoulder as if it were trash.

"You people are unbelievable," I said, looking from one delusional face to the next. "You come into my house, make these insane demands, and you don' t even have a clue what the real situation is."

I decided to give them one last chance, for Mark' s sake. For the sake of the three years of what I thought was a happy marriage.

"You should really ask your son who owns this house," I said slowly and clearly. "You should ask him who owns the company he claims to run. You should ask him who, exactly, is in charge here."

I locked eyes with Brenda.

"For the last three years, I' ve been willing to let him have his little fantasies for the sake of his pride. I' ve turned a blind eye to his posturing. But my patience has its limits. Don' t force me to spell it out for you."