A Flight to Freedom

Wendy's husband died young. He was crushed to death in a mine collapse.

At the time, she was heavily pregnant. The moment she heard the news, she went into premature labor.

Jacob was there for her, running around the hospital, doing everything he could. The neighbors pitched in to help too.

It all seemed reasonable at first. But no one expected that barely after her husband's body went cold, Wendy had already had her sights set on Jacob.

From the moment Oliver was born, everything became Jacob's responsibility — formula, clothes, and even doctor visits. Eighty percent of his salary went straight to Wendy and Oliver every month.

Meanwhile, our own home didn't have a single decent appliance. The rusted old bicycle in the corner was part of my wedding gifts.

When I mentioned it to him, he looked at me like I was heartless. "You're a woman, too. So why can't you be a little bit more understanding?

"Wendy's husband died while she was pregnant, and she nearly died giving birth. How can I not help? If I don't step in, what chance does that baby have?"

But everyone in town knew Wendy had received a massive payout after the accident. And yet our household scraped by on my salary alone.

There was a time I'd cry and fight with Jacob over this, but not anymore.

I packed my bags, neatly placed the divorce papers on the coffee table, and waited for Jacob to return.

He came home late. I didn't ask where he'd been—not this time.

The moment he entered, he saw me sitting on the couch, then noticed the papers on the table. His face tightened.

"Alicia, come on. Let's not do this. I know I've been difficult, but you can't seriously want a divorce over something so minor, right?”

I gave him a weary smile. "Minor? Her son's about to start calling you 'Dad,' and you think this is still something minor? This divorce is happening, Jacob. There's nothing to talk about."

Realizing I wouldn't back down, he snapped, "Don't be ridiculous! Oliver likes me. What's wrong with that? It just means I'm a good person. So what if I'm like a godfather to him?"

"A good person? Or just a fool? And is it really Oliver who likes you, or is it Wendy who's trying to reel you in?"

Jacob's face darkened. "You're impossible. You never listen. I can't even reason with a woman like you anymore."

I smiled. "Then consider this your chance. Go be with a woman like her.

"I married you against my parents' wishes because I thought you'd treat me well. Instead, I get to watch you play husband to someone else.

"Look around this house, Jacob. The apartment belongs to the company. And the furniture is all mine. Every bite of food, every drop of oil—I paid for it. Even the clothes on your back came from my wallet.

"And your money? It went to Oliver for toys and snacks. It went to Wendy for her hair appointments, new outfits, and makeup.

"Even when we visited my mother for New Year's, you couldn't bother to buy a cheap gift. But you had no problem buying new clothes for Oliver and stuffing money into his hands!"

I took a deep breath, finally letting out what I'd been holding in for years.

I sighed. "Jacob, if your heart's no longer with me, then there's no point dragging this out. Divorce me. Then go marry her—openly, proudly.

"Let her son call you 'Dad.' At least then, all that money you spent won't go to waste."

I stood and walked toward the bedroom. "It's over, Jacob. I'm done."

He stood frozen for a long time, then stumbled after me. "Alicia, let's not get divorced, okay?”

I couldn't understand him. His heart clearly was with Wendy, so why would he refuse to divorce me?

But it didn't matter. In a week, I'd be leaving the country. Sooner or later, Jacob and Wendy would have been married.

The next morning, I was still half-asleep when I heard the sound of clattering pots and pans.

In five years of marriage, Jacob had never stepped foot in the kitchen—unless it was to cook soup for Wendy during her recovery.

I ignored him, grabbed a basin of water, and went to wash up. Afterward, I snatched two eggs off the table, stuffed them into my bag, and headed for the door.

"At least have some breakfast before you go." Jacob's tone was unusually gentle.

But it was far too late for tenderness. "No thanks. We're practically divorced—no need to sit down and play happy family.

"Oh, and make sure you chip in for groceries. I bought every spoon, every grain of rice, and every drop of oil here. If you want to eat, you pay."

Five years of marriage, and not a single cent of Jacob's money had been spent on me.

I supported him—and in doing so, supported another woman too.