Page 53 of The Humiliated Wife

Dean stared at the word. It was impossible. He'd already taken it.

He looked at the other items on the list.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

But it was a start.

CHAPTER 23

Fiona

The trafficon the expressway was barely moving.

Fiona tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, eyes flicking between brake lights and the clock on the dash. She was cutting it close. She’d tried a different route, and still—still—it was the same endless crawl toward the city.

The car purred beneath her, smooth and quiet, so unlike the rattle-trap she’d driven for years. But even the leather seats and upgraded sound system couldn’t blunt the edge of the exhaustion curling around her ribs.

She loved Sweetwater. Loved Emma and the quiet street and the way the air smelled like cut grass at night. But the commute was breaking her.

Every mile felt like she was dragging the remnants of an old life behind her—one she couldn’t quite shed, even if it no longer fit.

She pulled into the school lot just as the warning bell rang.

Inside, she shrugged off her coat, dropped her bag next to her desk, and forced herself into the motions of morning: checking the whiteboard, pulling up the attendance.

But her limbs were heavy. Her chest tighter than usual. She needed to find a place closer to school, somewhere in the city. Something temporary, maybe—but rent was a whole other equation, and her salary wasn’t exactly built for studio apartments with functioning heat.

She was still mid-worry when the front office email popped up on her screen.

Subject: Classroom Funds Allocation – URGENT

Fiona, just wanted to let you know that we’ve received a sizable anonymous donation earmarked specifically for your classroom. No strings attached.

Admin’s already approved it. You can submit receipts for supplies, books, field trips, whatever. Just come by when you have a minute so we can walk you through the paperwork.

Thought this might brighten your Monday. :)

Fiona stared at the email.

Read it again.

Anonymous.Specifically for her.

She leaned back in her chair, blinking fast. Her eyes landed on the growing list on her desk: calculators that needed replacing, the bookshelf she wanted for the reading corner, headphones for the kids who needed quiet during test days. She hadn’t even dared dream about a field trip this year.

She felt the prickle of tears but pushed them down. This wasn’t a breakdown moment. It was just… relief. Confusing, unexpected relief.

She didn’t know who had sent it. Maybe it didn’t matter if it was Emma pulling strings, or a parent, or—someone else.

All that mattered was what it meant:

She could give her students more.

She could breathe a little.

If she wasn’t spending her own money on the class supplies maybe, just maybe, she could afford first month’s rent and a deposit somewhere without sacrificing half the math curriculum.

She clicked reply.