After Divorce She Rose Again

I visited several more companies after that, but each time, Harvey managed to sabotage my efforts. My expertise is in the tech industry, a field where the Kelly family holds significant sway. He made it clear that any company bold enough to hire me would be excluded from next year's tech summit. This ultimatum made companies even more reluctant to consider me. As soon as the name "Thalia Hansen" was mentioned, HR representatives would abruptly hang up the phone.

Harvey called me, his voice slow and methodical: "Are you running out of money? Come back and apologize, and you can still be Mrs. Kelly." I clenched my fists tightly, my nails leaving deep marks on my palms, and I replied firmly, "Not a chance."

During our marriage, Harvey had given me a credit card with no spending limit. Jewelry, designer clothes, luxury handbags—it could cover it all. But cash was never an option. This marriage, this family, felt like a golden cage—luxurious and admired from the outside but suffocating within.

The next day, I stood in front of a cleaning service company. "Hourly wage is $12, with ten hours of work per day, paid daily. Cleaning locations vary according to client requests." A woman with tightly curled hair handed me a work uniform, eyeing me from head to toe: "Can someone like you, with a degree, handle physical labor?" I took the uniform and smiled, "Don't underestimate me. I can handle it."

My parents passed away when I was thirteen. To support myself and continue my education, I worked as a waitress at a local diner, washed cars at an auto repair shop, and sold clothes in a retail store. After I got together with Harvey, many people said, "Thalia, you and Harvey come from different worlds." I knew that. He hunted in the African savannas and witnessed the auroras in Scandinavia. Whenever he wanted to visit a place, they’d arrange for a private experience just for him.

Meanwhile, I hadn't left my small hometown until I turned eighteen. This decade-long marriage made me foolishly believe we could find happiness together, as in every fairy tale. But the story ended, and life moved on. It's about the daily grind, the mundane realities of everyday life. The difference in social class comes with its own subtle condescension and loss of voice. It’s like a fine layer of sand between Harvey and me. At first, it was just a minor irritation. But over time, those tiny grains became unbearable, eroding us slowly—unseen and inevitable.

I changed into the cleaning company’s uniform and looked at the woman in the mirror—without makeup and jewelry. She once wore the finest clothes, sipped champagne at glitzy events, and mingled with the elite. But whether as Mrs. Kelly or a cleaner, survival takes precedence over dignity.