Chapter 6: Trapped at Home

After we got married, Marcus told me to quit my job, claiming my health was poor.

He said it like he cared, fussing over my stress, telling me I deserved a break. The irony wasn’t lost on me—he wanted a wife at home, not a partner out in the world.

Coincidentally, my company was on the verge of bankruptcy at the time, and owed us several months’ wages.

It was a rough time for everyone at the office—people packing up their desks, rumors swirling in the break room. I was lucky to get my back pay at all.

After finally getting my back pay, I resigned, planning to rest for a bit before finding another job.

I promised myself I’d take a breather, maybe visit my grandma in Florida, then jump back into the job hunt. I didn’t plan to be idle for long.

But unexpectedly, after I quit, I never managed to work again.

It was like running into a wall over and over, each rejection more confusing than the last. The world suddenly felt smaller, more claustrophobic.

First, Marcus opposed it at every turn, insisting that being a full-time housewife was a good choice.

He’d bring home magazines about interior decorating, suggest cooking classes, and talk about “fulfillment” like it was a dirty word. He acted like the era of Stepford wives had never ended.

I couldn’t believe he actually thought that way.

I’d known him as ambitious, driven—a man who respected independence. Where had that gone?

“Marcus, you know I never wanted to be a housewife. I want my own career.”

My voice cracked, raw with frustration. I missed the feeling of purpose, of having somewhere to be in the morning.

But he said, “If you have your own career, it’s just about making money, isn’t it? The Ellison family already has more than enough.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, as if dreams were just hobbies, and hobbies were for women with too much time on their hands.

I was speechless, so I decided to go out and look for a job anyway.

I spent hours crafting cover letters, updating my LinkedIn, pounding the pavement in heels that pinched my toes.

But after sending out more than a hundred resumes, not a single company replied.

Every inbox was a black hole. Even old friends didn’t return my calls. The silence was deafening.

“Natalie, don’t waste your time. You won’t find a job in Maple Heights.”

He said it with a smug certainty that made my skin crawl.

Seeing how confident he was, I had a sinking feeling.

The realization crept in, slow and cold—he was behind this. He’d made sure every door was closed to me.