1 My husband was a pathologically frugal man. I once spent fifty dollars on Black Friday, and he beat me so badly my spleen ruptured. He said we had everything we needed at home, so spending money frivolously was a sin. The beating, he claimed, was what I deserved. But that fifty dollars was for his own underwear and socks. I called 911. He cursed and screamed, chasing the paramedics away, yelling that since I didn't have a job, I could just lie in bed for a few days and get over it. I died that night. He turned around and sued the hospital, claiming their negligence and refusal to treat me was the cause of my death. He extorted a huge sum from them, used the money to marry a new woman, and took her on a lavish European vacation. When I woke up, reborn, I was staring at a newly opened package on the coffee table. Outside, I heard a key turn in the lock. Trevor was home. … The sound of the deadbolt sliding back sent a tremor through my hands. I knew, the second Trevor walked through that door and saw the package, I would be met with fists like iron. I scrambled into the bedroom, shoved the cardboard box deep into the closet, and frantically pulled his favorite Hermès pants over it, creating a messy pile. Trevor burst in, his voice booming with false cheer. "Lina, honey! Come look what I found at the market! Your dinner is all set!" I took the grimy plastic bag from his hand. Inside was a collection of wilted lettuce, bruised spinach, and yellowed cabbage leaves, along with a piece of fatty, discolored off-cut meat. Trevor’s route home from the office took him past the farmers’ market. Every evening, he would scavenge the vegetables others had thrown away. That was my food for the day. He ate his lunch and dinner at the company cafeteria, only eating breakfast at home. He placed another bag on the counter, this one containing fresh bread and milk, and stored it neatly in the fridge. I clenched my fists, my eyes locked on his back, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to escape. This time, I would not be his lamb to the slaughter. He turned and saw me staring at the refrigerator, misinterpreting my gaze completely. His voice sharpened into a warning. "Don't even think about touching my bread and milk. I have to work. I need to eat fresh food." He sneered. "You don't work. As long as you're not starving, it doesn't matter what you eat." But before our marriage, I had a better job than him, a higher salary. After I got pregnant, he begged me to quit, saying the baby was more important than money. When I came home, his mother was a constant, passive-aggressive presence, shaming me for not earning a living, for spending her son's money. She even forced me to collect cans and bottles to "contribute." The stress and exhaustion led to a miscarriage. When I told him I wanted to go back to work, he confiscated my ID and bank cards, forcing me into the role of a full-time housewife. And so began my life of eating rotten leaves. I took the disgusting bag into the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder; Trevor had gone into the bedroom. I immediately tossed the rotten vegetables into the trash and made a break for the door. I was shoving my feet into my sneakers when I heard the closet door slide open in the bedroom. A jolt of pure terror shot through me. I fumbled with my laces, my fingers clumsy with fear. Just as I got my shoes on, Trevor stormed out of the bedroom, his face a mask of fury. 2 He saw me trying to leave and yanked me back by the arm. "I told you to find my new Hermès pants! Are you deaf?" A man with a three-thousand-dollar monthly salary who wore Hermès. If my mother didn't slip us cash every few weeks, he wouldn't be able to afford boxer shorts. He hadn’t mentioned the package, so he hadn't found it yet. I had to get out, get to my parents' house where I would be safe. "They're in the closet, just look for them yourself," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "My mom just called. She has ten thousand dollars in cash for me. I'll just go pick it up and come right back." The mention of my mother's money instantly softened his expression. "Your mother knows her place," he said with a smirk. "If it wasn't for her money, I would've kicked a poor, ugly thing like you to the curb years ago." I nodded placatingly, turning to open the door. But he grabbed me again. "Find my pants first. Your first priority is always, always, to serve me." Trevor shoved me back towards the bedroom. Standing in front of the closet, my limbs began to tremble. I couldn't bear to think of the horror that would unfold if he found that package. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What are you so afraid of?" His voice suddenly rose to a shout. "You're not hiding a man in here, are you?!" I flinched, my whole body shaking. I was terrified of him beating me senseless, but he saw it as guilt. "Lina Reed, you dare cheat on me? I'll find your lover, strip you both naked, and parade you through the neighborhood!" He began tearing the apartment apart like a madman. A small part of me relaxed. As long as he didn't search the closet, he wouldn't find the package. He ransacked the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom. Finally, he stormed back into the bedroom and flung open the closet door. His eyes landed on the lumpy pile of clothes in the corner. He reached for it. My heart leaped into my throat. The package was right at the bottom. 3 I lunged in front of him, scattering the pile of clothes, pressing one hand down hard on the hidden package while my other hand snatched out the Hermès pants. "Here! I found them." He saw the wrinkled state of the pants and threw them in my face. "Do you have any idea how much these cost, you worthless bitch? You could work your whole miserable life and never afford pants like these." "I'll iron them for you," I said quickly, grabbing the pants from the floor. He shoved me towards the living room. "Hurry up. I have an important party to go to." While I ironed his precious pants, he searched the apartment twice more. The moment I finished, he threw me to the floor, his face contorted with rage. "Tell me! Where is he hiding?" My hands shaking, I held out my phone. "You can check my phone. There's no one else. I've been here, waiting for you, like a good wife." My voice quavered. "You were so angry when you came in… you scare me. That’s why I was trembling." A smug, satisfied smile spread across his face, and he let me go. I knew he loved it when I was afraid of him. It made him feel powerful, like he had me completely under his thumb. He sat on the sofa and meticulously went through every app on my phone, finding nothing. With a roar of frustration, he slammed my phone down on the table and started tearing at his own hair. "Lina, I know your whole family looks down on me! So what if you were beautiful and successful? Look at you now! I've turned you into a useless, pathetic housewife!" His words hit me like a physical blow. "You'd better behave," he snarled, "or I'll make sure you die a very painful death." I was stunned. When we got married, I knew he was insecure about his finances, so I’d specifically told my parents not to ask for a bride price or dowry. So, naturally, he gave nothing. But he demanded I bring a house to the marriage. I had one, a condo I'd bought with my own money, so it became our marital home. The moment I got pregnant, he knelt before me, begging me to quit my high-paying job. I refused, telling him his salary wasn't enough to support a family. He threatened to kill himself, screaming that money could be earned anytime, but our child's health was paramount. So I quit. And I still lost the baby. And that was the beginning of my miserable new life. 4 I never imagined it. This wasn't just control. This was a calculated, premeditated campaign of revenge. He didn't want to build a life with me; he wanted to destroy mine to make himself feel superior. I picked myself up off the floor and smoothed my hair, forcing a placating tone. "I've never looked down on you, Trevor. I love you. I believe you'll be a great success one day." He looked at me as if I were an idiot. I knew in that moment, he was gloating, proud that he could abuse me like this and still have me worship him. "You just wait here," I said. "I'll go to my mom's, get the money, and I'll bring back some ribs for you." That finally satisfied him. As I was leaving, he called out, "Tell your mom you need thirty thousand. I want to buy an LV belt." I nodded obediently and quickly shut the door behind me. I looked back at the cage that had imprisoned me for three years, then turned without hesitation and sprinted for the elevator. It was on the ground floor. I lived on the nineteenth. "Come on, come on, faster," I whispered. The elevator reached the fifth floor and stopped. I glanced back at our apartment door. A wave of anxiety washed over me. I decided to take the stairs. I couldn't risk another accident, another chance for him to kill me. Just then, our front door flew open. Trevor stood there, holding the package, his face purple with rage. "Lina! You eat my food, you live in my house, you don't earn a single cent, and you have the audacity to shop on Black Friday? What is this trash you bought?!" The elevator started moving again, rising quickly. Tears of desperation welled in my eyes. Please, please, hurry. I couldn’t go through the torture of my last life again. But a second later, he was on me, just like before, grabbing a fistful of my hair.
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