After Working 4 Jobs to Pay her Husband’s Debts, she Overheard Him Brag About His Personal Slave
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AFTER WORKING 4 JOBS TO PAY HER HUSBAND’S DEBTS, SHE OVERHEARD HIM BRAG ABOUT HIS PERSONAL SLAVE
Naomi stood frozen in the hallway of her own home, her hand on the doorknob, her body swaying with exhaustion. It was at night. She had worked four jobs: a hospital shift, a call center, a restaurant shift, and cleaning offices. Her feet throbbed in her worn sneakers.
She could shower, sleep for four hours, and do it all again tomorrow. This was her life for the last three years, all to pay off her husband’s gambling debts.
Then she heard his voice. Derek’s voice came through the bedroom door, loud and carefree. He had the phone on speaker.
“Man, I’m telling you, I got it made,” Derek said to his friends. “She works four jobs—hospital, call center, restaurant, and cleaning offices at night.”
The other voices laughed. “And you just sit back?”
“Pretty much,” Derek said, taking a sip of expensive whiskey. “She thinks she’s helping us get out of debt together. She thinks we’re a team… Cold? Nah, that’s smart. I got myself a personal slave who thinks she’s being a good wife.”
Naomi’s purse fell from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a soft thud. She backed away from the door. Three years of her life stolen one paycheck at a time.
THE WAKE-UP CALL
She staggered to the kitchen, staring at the sink full of Derek’s dirty dishes. The dishes she would wash before going to bed.
“He had been building a prison, and she had been too in love, too trusting, too exhausted to see the bars.”
She picked up her phone. She was short of money and her body was screaming for rest, but she had bills to pay—Derek’s bills. “No.” The word formed in her mind like a crack of thunder. She would never work another day to pay for Derek’s lies. She would never be his slave.
She walked to the guest room, which Derek had turned into his office. She found his drawers and pulled out credit card statements: , , and in recent charges for jewelry, hotels, and restaurants she had never been to. Amber.
Naomi found Derek’s secret Android phone. The messages with Amber were explicit: two years of meetups, lies about his job, and Amber laughing about Naomi’s exhaustion. “Hey, poor thing. Working all those jobs.”
Naomi took photos of everything. Her hands were steady now. The exhaustion had burned away, replaced by something cold, hard, and focused. She had been asleep for three years. Now she was awake, and Derek was going to regret the day he ever called her his slave.
TURNING THE TABLES
Naomi emailed her friend Brenda’s divorce lawyer, Patricia, and pressed send on the email she had written hours earlier.
The next morning, she called in sick to the hospital for the first time in 18 months. She met Patricia.
“None of this is your fault. You understand that?” Patricia assured her. “Legally, those debts are his, not yours. If he’s been taking money from joint accounts without your knowledge to support an affair, that’s financial infidelity.”
Naomi opened a new bank account in her name only and deposited her last paycheck. She was taking her life back.
Three days later, she quit her third job at the restaurant. She was down to two part-time jobs. She told Derek she was too tired to sleep in their marital bed and began sleeping in the guest room.
One Sunday, she found Derek’s car keys and searched his car. She found his secret phone again. She sent all the damning messages to Patricia. “He’s been planning meetups with her during times he told me he had job interviews.”
The following week, Derek confronted her, noticing the money had stopped flowing into their joint account.
“Did you close our joint account?” he demanded.
“I moved my money to a personal account. That’s all.”
“You can’t do that! We have bills to pay!”
“You have bills to pay. Those are your debts, not mine. And you’ve been spending my money on your mistress.”
Derek went very still. “You heard that?”
“I heard everything, and I’m done being your slave.” Naomi placed an envelope on the table. “These are divorce papers. You’ve been served.”
VICTORY IS NOT REVENGE
Derek pleaded, cried, and promised to change. “I know I hurt you, but I need help.”
“You need help? I worked four jobs for three years trying to help you, and you called me your slave,” Naomi said. “That’s your problem now. You’re good at making other people solve your problems. Time to solve your own.”
Naomi left. She rented a small, bright, one-bedroom apartment. She was free.
Derek tried to fight the divorce, even requesting spousal support, claiming he gave up his career to support hers. But Patricia, armed with the video evidence of the abuse, the financial records, and the text messages, fought back.
The divorce was granted. Derek’s debts remained his alone. Naomi was not responsible for any of them. The house, which was in her name, went to Naomi.
She sold the house, paid for her physical therapy degree, and enrolled in a full program at the community college. She accepted a full-time administrative position at the hospital.
Six months after leaving Derek, Naomi ran into him at a coffee shop. He was working there behind the counter, taking orders. He looked exhausted.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m good. Really good. I’m in school studying to be a physical therapist.”
Derek looked at her with pity. “I was horrible to you. I know that. I used you… I am sorry.”
“Okay,” Naomi said calmly. “Apology heard.”
Derek’s final question: “Do you forgive me?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I don’t think about you anymore. I don’t wonder what you’re doing. I don’t care if you’re happy or sad or struggling. You’re just not part of my life anymore.”
Naomi knew that was better than hate. That was victory. She had traded being a slave to debt for being the owner of her own life.
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