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“You okay?” she asked. “You look like you’re about to snap.”

“I just needed somewhere to breathe.”

She frowned. She didn’t ask questions. Just grabbed my hand and led me to the breakroom, left the baked goods at the desk.

“What’s going on?” she asked, sitting down across from me. Her pretty face balled up.

I told her some of it—not about Sam. But the part about Mark. About him fucking the neighbor. The way I couldn’t leave without having nothing. How stupid I felt.

She nodded, listened, then said, “That sounds like financial abuse.”

I blinked. “What?”

“All that ‘he lets you’ spend money one stuff and then throws it in your face? But won’t let you work. Go to school. That’s control That’s abuse.”

I frowned. “No... I mean, I have access to everything.”

“Is your name on any of it? Do you know how much he makes? How much he owns or saves?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know.

That silence was all she needed to hear.

“Exactly,” she nodded after a beat. And it wasn’t like she was being self-righteous or condescending. She was trying to make me see what I hadn’t even thought about.

I left not long after. Drove straight to the bank. Waited in line, pulled out a check from a dusty old checkbook, and wroteone out to myself. When I got to the counter, I smiled like I belonged there. Slid it over.

The teller typed. Frowned. Typed again.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re not listed on this account.”

My stomach dropped. “That can’t be right.”

She double-checked. “It’s in Mark Blackwell’s name only.”

I walked out in a fog. Everything buzzing around me except my body, which felt like stone. My phone vibrated—Mark.

I didn’t answer.

Why hadn’t I thought about any of this before?

I’d let myself become a placeholder in a life where I didn’t own shit. My mama taught me better. My daddy gave me the blueprint. I’d ignored them both for a man who put my name on nothing.

A text lit up my screen:

I’m picking up my parents. I need you to cook something and get the guest room ready.

I didn’t respond.

Instead, I parked at the closest park I could find. I wondered where I could get whatever Sam had me smoking at his house from. But I didn’t know those types of people, so I sat there for hours. Scrolling through social media. Pulling up and staring at Sam’s number every once in a while. Wanting to call him. Needing to hear his voice.

But what if he was with his wife? What if I was just a mistake to him? A pretty detour? Even revenge. He had been with his wife a long time. How could he not love her even a little bit?

Mark kept texting about dinner.

Around six, I picked up a pizza and went home.

His parents were already sitting in my living room, smug and self-important-looking head asses. I dropped the pizza on the coffee table, gave them a polite smile.