eal job was groundskeeper, cook, and glorified house husband. I owed them. They took me in when I was seventeen, right after my parents died in a log

ied under years of mowing their perfect lawns and cooking meals Nicole would barely touch. I married their daughter, a beautiful, entitled socialite who found my

untry, a charity case living off their generosity. They got me a stable, soul-crushing job at a

asn't my microbrewery, but it was something. My colleagues, a few guys from the plant, insisted on

n I pulled my old pickup truck up to the Anders

ss D

d it. She did this sometimes, a petty power m

I walked to the pedestrian gate and peered through the iron bars. A light w

my voice quiet. "It's E

use lights. She saw me. Then, she turned and walked away, disappearing deeper into the h

night air. I walked back to my truck, the engine ticking as it cooled. I spent the night in the ca

resentment, of swallowed pride and buried drea

shift, I walked straight into the house. Nicole was in the kitchen, scrolling

king up. "Molly wants pancakes.

ice was calm, devoid of the ange

ed up, annoyed.

t a di

re you serious? Over what? Because you had to sleep i

st night," I s

vorce me. What would you do? Where would you go? You have not

ter this morning and had them notarized. "I'm quitting the job. I'm signing the truck over to you. It can b

s, her mouth slightly o

ard. The one she tho

ike ash. "She has you and your parents. I waive my rights t

lief. Then Molly walked in, he

s leaving, sweetie. He won't b

r expression untrouble

one last time, a perfect portrait of a life I never truly belonged to. I turned and walked o