On the first day of our marriage, my husband threw a greasy dishcloth in my face and said, “From now on, you’re my family’s maid.” I smiled, left my wedding ring on the table, and walked out with my suitcase.
PART 1
“From today on, you are not a guest or a princess here. You cook, you do the laundry, and you take care of my family because that is exactly why you married me.”
The damp rag that Brandon threw at me hit my cheek before sticking to my hair. It smelled strongly of grease, dried chili, and old, rotting food on the morning after our wedding.
My mother-in-law, Brenda, watched everything from the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. My father-in-law, Patrick, did not even take his eyes off the football game playing on the television screen.
“Did you hear me, Melanie?” Brandon insisted as he stepped closer to me. “You are not going to live off someone else in this house.”
I slowly removed the dirty cloth from my hair, feeling a mixture of deep shame and sudden clarity inside me. The night before, in front of more than two hundred guests in a beautiful grand hall in Atlanta, Brandon had promised to respect me, support me, and make me the happiest woman in the world. My parents had cried tears of joy when they heard him say those words.
To help us get started, Brandon’s family had given us 450,000 dollars as a wedding gift. My parents did not keep any of that money, but instead deposited the whole amount into an account in my name and added 200,000 dollars from their own savings.
“I am giving you this so that you never have to depend on anyone,” my dad had told me gently while handing me the bank card.
