The months that followed were brutal.
I rented a room above a laundromat where the pipes rattled all night and the walls smelled like detergent and old rain.
I took jobs I once thought were beneath me.
Stocking shelves before dawn.
Cleaning offices after everyone else went home.
Carrying boxes until my back ached and my hands split open.
Every paycheck went toward paying back what I had drained from Evelyn’s accounts during our marriage.
At first, I did it because her family demanded it.
Then I did it because the numbers haunted me.
Every dollar had a memory attached.
A prescription I had complained about.
A grocery bill she had smiled through.
A small withdrawal I told myself she would never notice.
I began keeping a notebook.
Not to calculate what I was owed.
To record what I had stolen.
Money, yes.
But also peace.
Dignity.
Trust.
Time from a woman who had already been living on borrowed days.
Chapter 9: The Last Debt… Continue Reading ⬇️