I Was His Wife for 8 Years, He Paid Me Like a Maid Chapter 02
Three weeks into the academy, Grandma’s medication ran out.
The doctor switched her to a new regimen. Twenty–eight hundred a month.
Lily’s school also sent home a notice. Six hundred for the field trip and meal fees.
I sat up half the night with both bills, doing the math.
No matter how I moved things around, I was still short over a thousand.
The next day, Lily stuffed the field trip notice into the bottom of her backpack.
“Mommy, I get carsick. I don’t want to go.”
She kept touching the yellow field trip cap the teacher handed out.
The brim was already wrinkled from her fingers.
I didn’t call her out.
That flimsy piece of paper felt like it weighed a ton in my hands.
I put the prescription in a folder and went to Ashford Corp to find Vivian.
She was in a conference room training new hires.
The glass door wasn’t fully closed.
I heard her say, “Mr. Ashford hates people who don’t understand boundaries.”
“Some people think a pretty face means they can expense every little household problem.”
Several new employees looked my way. I instinctively hid the folder behind my back and waited until everyone cleared out.
Vivian glanced at the prescription. “I gave you this month’s money at the beginning of the month. Now you’re back again?”
“Grandma can’t miss her medication. Just lend it to me. Deduct it from next month-”
“Sloane, you treat Mr. Ashford like an ATM. Even ATMs need a break.”
She turned toward her car. I was afraid she’d leave, so I grabbed the car door. The heel I’d repaired too many times snapped clean off.
I dropped to my knees on the pavement. The prescription scattered.
“Vivian, please just give me the medication money. I’ll pay it back.”
She didn’t help me up. She just smoothed the skirt I’d wrinkled.
“There are cameras everywhere. Who exactly are you performing for?”
That same day, the photo of me kneeling by her car hit the Ashford family group chat.
The picture captured every speck of dust on my knees. But not the prescription behind the wheel.
Gemma captioned it. [Sloane went all the way to the office to beg for a new bag.]
Eleanor replied, [If she needs money, she can say so. Don’t embarrass the family.]
I typed out a long explanation. Deleted it. Rewrote it.
Finally, I sent one line.
[I was asking for Grandma’s medication money.]
Gemma responded instantly. [There’s always a new excuse every time she gets caught.]
No one asked anything else.
I didn’t know how to prove it anymore.
I’d always been the one buying the medication, but I’d never said so.
Now that I was saying it, it sounded like a lie I’d made up on the spot.
That night, Grandma saw the empty pill box. She secretly pulled an old ten–dollar bill from under her pillow
and held it out to me.
“Sloane, is this enough for the medicine? If it’s not, I can stop taking it.”
She’d forgotten again that the Ashfords were now one of the wealthiest families in New York.
I pushed the money back and smiled. “The pharmacy was closed today. I’ll go tomorrow.”
Lily overheard. She pushed her bowl of steamed egg toward her great–grandmother.
“Great–Grandma can have mine. I don’t like eggs.”
She said she didn’t like them, but her eyes followed every spoonful.
I saw it. I lowered my head and poured her a bowl of plain broth instead.
The next day at the estate, Gemma was cutting wagyu beef for her dog.
Lily caught the smell and quietly swallowed.
Gemma immediately lifted the plate higher. “If Lily wants some, your mother can swipe her card for it.”
I pulled my daughter out of there fast.
In the car, she tried to comfort me. “Mommy, I like plain broth better than meat.”
I touched her waistband, looser than it used to be. I couldn’t speak.
That night, I took an overnight setup shift for a hotel event through the academy.
Three hundred a night.
Breaking down floral arrangements usually kept me there until one in the morning.
Four nights straight, and I finally bought Grandma’s medication and covered Lily’s field trip fee.
On the fifth night, Vivian cornered me outside the hotel.
“Mr. Ashford is overseas negotiating an acquisition, and you’re sneaking into hotels every night.”
“If someone photographs you, what do you think they’ll assume?”
I held out my raw, blistered hands. “I’m just moving flower stands.”
She glanced at them.
“You’re being kept by Damon Ashford, and you’re out here earning three hundred dollars a night? Who would
believe that?”
That evening, Damon sent a voice message.
[Stop going to the hotel. It’s not safe at night. If you need anything, call Vivian.]
I listened twice.
The first time, I heard blame.
The second time, I forced myself to find concern.
At least he was worried about my safety.
I let myself believe, again, that if I just explained clearly, everything would be fine.
I tried sending the prescription to Vivian.
The message wouldn’t go through.
She’d blocked me.
