Suffocating Deals: A Black Friday Reckoning Chapter 2

“Let’s get a divorce.”

I struggled to push myself off the floor. Though Conrad’s kick hadn’t landed directly on me, the impact left me with a twinge in my lower back—a lingering pain from years of standing by him through thick and thin.

Conrad looked down at me coldly, his eyes brimming with disdain. When he heard the word “divorce,” his lips curled into a mocking sneer.

“You want a divorce over some kicked boxes?”

I steadied myself, brushed off my clothes, and nodded firmly. “Yes. I want a divorce.”

Perhaps it was my unprecedented determination, but the smirk disappeared from Conrad’s face. His tone softened, almost conciliatory.

“Don’t be dramatic. We’ve been married five years, we have a five-year-old son. You want a divorce over something so trivial? What will people say?”

It was precisely those five years of marriage that made me realize how much I’d endured. Time and again, I had swallowed my grievances for the sake of our family. My mom and Mrs. Mildred Whittaker often advised me to be patient, to understand how hard Conrad worked to provide for us. I treated their advice as gospel. Today, I realized it had only led to my unhappiness.

“So what if people talk?” I shot back. “What they say doesn’t matter. But, Conrad, do you even see what’s in these boxes? Is there a single thing you bought for me?”

Hearing that, Conrad glanced at the scattered packages. Men’s underwear, orthopedic supports, a foot spa for his mom—everything I bought had been for the family. Not a single item for myself, not even socks.

He looked slightly embarrassed and reached out to steady me, but I brushed him off. After a few attempts to pacify me, his patience wore thin.

“Fine. I was wrong to yell at you, but I’ve got reasons. Work has been a nightmare. I’ve got my boss breathing down my neck, endless overtime. Can’t you cut me some slack?”

“If everyone divorced over small things like this, my parents would’ve split up a hundred times by now!”

I remained unmoved. “Your parents are your parents. We’re not them. Yes, work is tough, but is being home, taking care of Landon, your mother, and this household any easier for me?”

My voice wavered, and I fought back tears. But Conrad didn’t care. His face grew impatient, even annoyed.

“You have no idea how hard it is to make money. I’d like to see how you’ll survive after a divorce.”

With that, he stormed into the bedroom and emerged with a box filled with receipts and bills—water bills, HOA fees, school tuition, mortgage payments.

“Look at this,” he declared, dumping the contents onto the floor like falling snow. “This is everything I’ve paid for. Do you see how much you’ve spent over the years? And now you want to leave me?”

I stared at the pile of receipts with a calm that seemed to unnerve him. “Did I have our child alone? Did you not need a place to live and water to drink before we got married?”

Conrad switched to his usual tactic—playing the victim. “You’re the one who wants a divorce, so we need to settle accounts. Or are you just some freeloader, using me for a free ride?”

Anger surged through me. My hands trembled as I pulled the luxury handbag out from under a pile of delivery boxes and tossed it at him.

“What about this? Is that in your ledger?”