Fletcher, who had been silent, couldn't help but argue back. “You think I didn't want to be there? The company had just launched. I was so busy I barely had time to eat! I had to earn money, didn't I? How else were we going to pay for Mom's treatment?”
Vivica shot him a look of disbelief but didn't bother to respond to his twisted logic.
“It was only after your mother passed away that things eased up a little. I thought life would finally get better, but then someone got restless… someone who felt so put-upon and pressured, who thought his wife was too demanding and inconsiderate…”
She had held these words in for so long. Aside from venting to Quintina occasionally, she had never even told her own parents the truth. They, like the Sanfords, believed that being a stay-at-home wife with a ten-thousand-dollar monthly allowance was a life of unparalleled bliss.
Silence descended upon the room as her words hung in the air.
The tears that had welled in Vivica's eyes had receded, and her composure returned. She took a quiet breath, her voice softening. “Fletcher, do you still feel like you’re the victim here? Do you still think I’m also to blame for the failure of our marriage? If I am, it’s only because I was too soft, because I kept compromising and let you bully me.”
Fletcher’s face was a stony mask, a picture of stubborn denial. “It’s been tradition for centuries that the man is the breadwinner and the woman manages the home,” he said flatly. “I earned the money, you took care of the family. What’s wrong with that? And it’s a daughter-in-law’s duty to serve her in-laws. Why are you even bringing these things up?”
Vivica simply smiled at his words, choosing not to engage. Arguing with a relic from the past was a waste of breath. As the beneficiary of their marital arrangement, Fletcher would never admit his faults.

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