Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
What A Crappy Life!
WANITA'S POV
"You are fired!"
I let out a mock gasp as I stared straight at the madam who had made my life a living hell for almost three months.
"Well, there goes my third job," I said with spite as I threw the napkin on the floor.
Her brows raised in wonder.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
I mimicked her lip movements without a sound, just to annoy her.
Her eyes darkened with anger.
"I was just waiting for this to come," I started. "I was really tired of working for your sleazy ass!"
Her hand met my face before I could dodge.
The slap astounded me.
My eyes rolled helplessly inside of their sockets like the rings around Jupiter.
I saw the stars and the Milky Way too.
What a nice way to dismiss me.
My hand flew up to cradle my cheek, rubbing off some of the sting.
I glared furiously at her.
"Eat your job. And your damn mall," I snapped through gritted teeth.
I sized her up.
"Literally," I added, since she was a woman who was on the really big side.
Her eyes widened at the insult.
"I’m sure you have enough space in there to stomach the entire city if you wanted."
She gasped.
Her jaw fell open and I smirked.
Serves her right!
"You little bitch!" She screamed, her face red with annoyance.
I flipped my hair.
Then, I turned and walked out of the mall without looking back once.
I walked towards home.
The streets were quiet as I slung my Dior handbag over my shoulder.
I should have been home already.
But I had made a stop by the grocery store to get myself a treat after the spat.
It was wasted time because nothing there had appealed to me anyway.
My feet were aching now from walking so much, and the small of my back throbbed.
The baby had been sitting low lately, pressing down every time I walked too long.
My fingers, which were now swollen, could barely hold the strap of my bag.
I was tired—physically, mentally.
But if I didn’t keep walking, I would never get a taxi in this part of town.
I pictured my husband waiting at home for me as I trudged forward.
Je was probably reheating leftovers and rubbing his tired eyes.
He might still even be in that his wrinkled button-down he never takes off.
Not even on the weekends.
And just knowing he would be there made the walk feel a little less endless.
My phone rang in my bag.
I stopped and pulled the vibrating gadget out with a deep groan.
The caller ID flashed in my face.
It was my best friend—Solara.
"Hey, girl," I beamed into the phone.
"Where you at, elephant?" she asked.
I let out a tsk sound.
Ever since I had gotten pregnant, Solara had instantly dubbed me an elephant.
"I just got fired from my job,"—I pushed strands of my hair out of my face—"and I’m heading home right now."
"You finally left that place?"
It wasn’t a question.
"Oh, thank goodness," she added excitedly. "Your boss doesn’t seem to care about human rights."
She was right.
That woman nearly worked me to death for the peanuts she paid me.
She would even take away the tips that the customers left to me because she knew that I couldn’t fight her.
And I was too pregnant to get another job.
Most places wouldn’t take me.
She acted like she was doing me a favor by letting a waddling slug work in her restaurant.
She called me every name that she could think of every day—tortoise, snail, slug.
Working for her was torture.
"...keep it on the table."
The familiar masculine voice floated into my ears from the phone.
The sound jolted me back to reality as my brain registered who it was.
Jake.
My husband.
What was he doing at Solara’s home?
"Isn’t that Jake?" I quickly questioned her, my brows furrowing.
Solara let out an awkward laugh.
Suspicion curled around me.
"Yes, girl, he’s just here to drop off something for my father’s company."
Confusion replaced suspicion.
"What does he want with your father? He never told me anything about that."
"Umm... he—" she began to stammer.
"Give him the phone."
It was an impatient demand.
"He just left," she added.
An uneasy feeling washed over me.
"But he was just there right now," I added skeptically. "Why didn’t you tell me he was?"
There was an awkward silence.
"He left, Wanita."
Her voice was stern.
"He came in, kept the papers on the table, and left immediately," she explained.
"But you—"
"Are you trying to imply something?" she cut me off abruptly.
I swallowed.
Was that why I felt uneasy?
Was my brain trying to piece together something much more darker?
"No, no, I—"
"Save it, Wanita. The audacity to think something might be going on with Jake and me is preposterous," she fumed.
A lump formed in my throat.
I tried to swallow it but it wouldn’t budge.
"No, Solara, I didn’t mean—" I started as panic began to wash over me.
She hissed.
"He’s not even my type, girl!" she snapped as if I had accused her of something.
Guilt burned through me.
"If he wasn’t your husband, I wouldn’t even be speaking with someone of his caliber."
The words hurt.
But, they were true.
Solara was way out of my league—and Jake’s too.
She came from old money.
Meanwhile, Jake and I had been raised in the slums where we met.
He worked nine to five as a secretary at Lucas Tech.
It paid decently—enough to keep us fed, but not enough to save.
"I’m sorry, Solara. I never meant that," I said softly. "I was just surprised."
"Honestly, Wanita, I am only helpinh him because of you, and our friendship."
The words stung.
But not because they were loud.
It wasbecause they were true in the quiet and cutting way that only old friends could execute the delivery.
A tear fell.
I brushed it away.
"I’m sorry, Solara. I never meant that," I said softly. "I was just surprised."
She scoffed.
"Surprised that your husband was in my house to drop off his CV so I could get him a better job at my dad’s company?"
I heard the irritation in her voice.
"Please. I am doing you both a favor."
Something fell in the background.
There was pin drop silence for a second.
Then she screamed at me.
"I wouldn't suck his dick, even if he were the last man on Earth!" She added with a snap.
The insult burned like vinegar poured over an open sore.
Did she have to insult him?
Another tear slipped free.
I wiped it away with my swollen palm.
"I called to make sure that you were on your way home," she said in a smaller voice.
"I am."
"Get into a taxi and take your bloated self home, Wanita."
I said nothing.
"Text me when you get home so that I can sleep easy, elephant," she added.
And then, she ended the call.
I stood there on the quiet street with the phone still pressed against my ear.
The night breeze brushed against my face, cooling the tears that refused to fall.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I didn’t belong in her world.
But one thing about rock bottom was that you only go up from here.
I tucked the phone into my bag and kept walking.
Soon, I arrived home, safe and sound.
But, I didn't call Solara.
I couldn't.
Not after the words she had fed me.
I was used to her sharp tongue which went all the way back from in college.
Then I had been a scholarship student and she had always helped me.
Jake too.
But this one had hurt me bad.
I found comfort in the arms of my husband who promised me a better life.
If only I had known how short that promise would last.
