Chapter 6

I was on the verge of sleep, but his rant brought me fully awake.

He wanted a fight? Fine, I’d give him one.

“I’m spending my own money. I can buy whatever I want. Who do you think you are to control me? Bianca’s got real men in her life—men you could never measure up to. And now you’re jealous? Pathetic.”

Nathan’s face twisted with anger. I knew exactly what to say to hit him where it hurt.

As his wife, I knew him better than anyone. He’d always been envious of Bianca’s success, trying to cozy up to her crowd, but they didn’t want anything to do with him.

“You’re insane,” Nathan spat. “Sleep it off, you’re clearly out of your mind.”

He stormed out of the room.

I laughed to myself. He probably thought his silent treatment would terrify me. Little did he know, I was relishing the freedom of being alone.

The next morning, I was woken up by Carter’s cries.

When I checked the clock, it was already 8 a.m.

Well, well, someone’s late.

I stretched luxuriously in bed, savoring the fact that I didn’t have to rush out of bed to make breakfast for anyone.

Carter had tripped over his toys and split his forehead open. He lay on the floor, clutching his head, wailing, expecting someone to come to his rescue.

Nathan came stumbling out of the master bedroom, looking disheveled and clearly panicked by the scene.

Carter ran into his arms, bawling, “Dad, I’m late! I’m going to lose points for being late!”

Nathan was just as unprepared, having clearly just woken up himself. He never thought I’d actually stop taking care of Carter.

Seeing me standing there watching the scene, Nathan snapped.

“Why are you just standing there?! Go grab a band-aid! Can’t you see Carter’s hurt?”

I yawned and glanced at them.

“Oh, he’s got a scar now? Too bad. Guess it’s gonna leave a mark.”

7

Carter was always so conscious of his appearance, and now with a gash on his forehead, he was crying like the world had ended.

Nathan saw I wasn’t going to help, so he started looking for the band-aids himself. After practically tearing the house apart, he still couldn’t find one.

Frustrated and red-faced, he shouted, “Where the hell are the band-aids? You hid them, didn’t you?”

I rolled my eyes. “If they’re right in front of you and you can’t see them, that’s on you. Don’t go blaming me because you’re blind.”

Nathan was furious, looking like he might charge at me. But he quickly realized now wasn’t the time because Carter was really late for school.

Carter attended Maplewood Academy, a private school where the other kids were from well-off families, all used to following the rules. Being late was practically unheard of.

To make matters worse, Lily Whitman—the girl Carter liked—was the class’s discipline monitor. If he was late, she’d surely look down on him.

Nathan hurriedly dressed Carter, who stood there looking helpless.

“Where are my clothes?” Nathan asked.

I barely glanced at him.

Before, I’d always have freshly washed and ironed clothes neatly laid out on the sofa for him. But now, remembering all those times I tried to be the "perfect wife" made me want to slap myself.

“They’re on my face,” I said sarcastically, as I turned on the TV and started my morning yoga.

Nathan shot me a death glare, grabbed some mismatched clothes from wherever he could find them, and with his hair a mess, dragged Carter out the door. Neither of them had eaten breakfast, and Carter’s complaints about being hungry echoed down the hall as they left.

Meanwhile, I leisurely ordered myself a deluxe breakfast delivery, completed my yoga session, and enjoyed my meal at a slow pace.

Just as I finished, my phone started ringing. It was Ms. Valerie Harper, Carter’s teacher.

I let the phone ring, then hung up. Carter wasn’t my problem anymore. Why should I care about his school issues?

Ms. Harper was persistent though. After several missed calls, she sent a text.

“Mrs. Summers, what is going on at your house today? Carter not only arrived late, but he didn’t wear his uniform. He looked filthy, like he hadn’t washed his face! And what’s more, he didn’t even do his homework! Is this how you raise your child? You need to come to school immediately!”

I was tempted to ignore her, but knowing she wouldn’t let it go, I replied: