After Working 4 Jobs to Pay her Husband’s Debts, she Overheard Him Brag About His Personal Slave – Part 3

He told me you were getting divorced. He told me it was just a matter of paperwork. Naomi typed. He lied. He’s been lying to both of us. But I’m done being lied to. If you want to stay with him, that’s your choice. But know that he has no money. He has no job. And he has $97,000 in debt that I’ve been paying off.

When I leave, that debt becomes his problem. Good luck. She turned off her phone and put it in her drawer. She didn’t want to talk to Amber. Didn’t want to hear her excuses or her shock or her apologies. Amber was Dererick’s problem now. And in 5 weeks, Dererick would be nobody’s problem but his own. Amber didn’t text again.

But Dererick started acting strange. He was on his phone constantly typing and deleting messages. He kept asking Naomi about her schedule. He wanted to know when she would be home. She had plans. If anything had changed, Naomi knew Amber must have confronted him. And now Dererick was scared.

It was week four of Naomi’s plan. She had $5,400 saved, almost enough to leave. She had found an apartment, a small one-bedroom across town. The landlord was holding it for her. She just needed to come up with first month last month, and deposit, 5,000 total. She was almost there. Naomi came home from her hospital shift on a Wednesday afternoon.

Dererick’s car was in the driveway. Unusual. He was usually at the gym. She walked inside and found him sitting at the kitchen table. His laptop was open in front of him. His face was pale. We need to talk, he said. Naomi’s heart started racing, but she kept her voice calm. About what? Did you close our joint account? I moved my money to a personal account. That’s all.

Why? Because I wanted control over my own paychecks. Derek stood up. You can’t do that. We have bills to pay. You have bills to pay. Naomi corrected. Those are your debts, not mine. His face flushed red. We’re married. Your money is our money. Then where’s your money? Naomi asked.

You haven’t worked in three years. I’ve been supporting you. I’ve been paying your debts and you’ve been spending my money on your mistress. Derek went very still. What are you talking about? Amber? I know all about Amber. Who told you? His voice was sharp. Does it matter? I know. I have proof. Text messages, photos, receipts, 2 years of evidence.

Dererick sat back down. His hands were shaking. It’s not what you think. Really? What is it then? Because from where I’m standing, you convinced me to work four jobs to pay off your gambling debts while you sat home and spent my money on another woman. What part of that am I misunderstanding? I was going to end it with her.

I swear it didn’t mean anything. You’re right. It didn’t mean anything because I’m done. Naomi pulled an envelope from her purse and placed it on the table. These are divorce papers. You’ve been served. Dererick stared at the envelope like it might explode. You can’t be serious. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.

Naomi, please let me explain. Let me fix this. You can’t fix this. You broke us 3 years ago when you decided I was worth more as a worker than as a wife. I never said that. You said it to your friends. I heard you. You called me your personal slave. Derek’s face went white. You heard that? I heard everything.

and I’m done being your slave.” Naomi turned and walked to the guest room. She had already packed her essential belongings. One suitcase. That’s all she needed for now. She could get the rest later with a police escort if necessary. Derek followed her. Where are you going? Somewhere you’re not. This is my house, too. Actually, it’s not.

Your name isn’t on the mortgage. Mine is. I’ve been paying it for 5 years. According to my lawyer, you have 30 days to move out. You can’t kick me out of my own home. It’s not your home. It never was. You just lived here while I paid all the bills. Naomi grabbed her suitcase and walked to the front door. Dererick grabbed her arm.

Don’t touch me, she said, her voice cold. He let go immediately. Naomi, please don’t do this. I love you. You don’t love me. You love my paycheck. But that’s over now. She walked out the door and loaded her suitcase into her car. Dererick stood in the doorway watching. He looked lost, like he couldn’t understand how his perfect setup had fallen apart.

Naomi got in her car and drove away. She drove to her mother’s house and sat in the driveway for a long moment. Then she called Patricia. “It’s done,” she said. “I served him. I left.” “How do you feel?” terrified, relieved, free. Naomi laughed. It sounded slightly hysterical. Is that normal? Completely normal.

Are you safe? I’m at my mother’s house. Good. Stay there tonight. Tomorrow we’ll talk about next steps. But Naomi, you did it. The hardest part is over. Naomi hung up and sat in the car watching her mother’s house. The lights were on inside. Her mother was probably making dinner, living a normal life, a life Naomi was about to reenter.

Her phone buzzed. Multiple texts from Derek. Please come home. We can work this out. I’ll change. I’ll get a job. I’ll pay you back. Naomi blocked his number. Then she got out of the car and walked to her mother’s door. Her mother answered before she could knock. She took one look at Naomi’s face and pulled her into a hug. “Come inside, baby,” she said.

“You’re safe now.” Naomi started crying then. Not sad tears, not angry tears, relief tears. She had done it. She had left. She had taken the first step toward a new life. And there was no going back. The apartment was small but bright. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen barely big enough for one person, but it was hers. All hers.

Naomi signed the lease on a Thursday. She moved in on Friday with help from her mother and Brenda. She didn’t have much. The suitcase she had packed, some kitchen supplies her mother donated, a mattress she bought on sale, a few dishes from the thrift store, but it was enough. She set up her laptop on the kitchen counter and checked her email.

Patricia had sent an update. Dererick had 30 days to respond to the divorce papers. If he didn’t respond, the divorce would go through automatically. If he did respond, they would negotiate terms. Either way, Naomi was getting divorced. There was another email from the hospital. They wanted to know if she was interested in going full-time again.

One of the managers had been impressed with her work. They were offering her a position in administration, better pay, normal hours, benefits. Naomi stared at the email. a real job, a career, something she had given up on 3 years ago when Derek convinced her they needed to focus on his dreams instead of hers.

She replied, “Yes, I’m very interested. When can we discuss details?” Then she opened her banking app. $5,800. She had spent $3,000 on the apartment. That left $2,800. Enough for a couple months of expenses if she was careful. But she wasn’t scared. For the first time in 3 years, she could see a path forward. Her phone rang. A known number.

She answered cautiously. Hello. Is this Naomi Fletcher? A man’s voice. Yes. This is calling from First National Bank. I’m trying to reach Derek Fletcher regarding his account. The number we have on file isn’t working. Do you have a way to reach him? Derek and I are separated. I don’t have his current number.

Oh, I see. Well, his account is severely overdrawn. We need to discuss payment options. That’s his account, not mine. But you’re his wife. Aren’t you responsible for his debts? No. We’re getting divorced. And those debts were incurred without my knowledge or consent. You’ll need to work out payment with Derek directly.

She hung up before the man could respond. Over the next week, there were more calls. Credit card companies, loan officers, collection agencies, all looking for Derek, all trying to find someone to pay his debts. Naomi blocked every number. She also received an email from Amber. She almost deleted it without reading, but curiosity got the better of her.

I’m sorry. I didn’t know the truth about Derek. I broke up with him when I found out he lied about everything. He’s been calling me non-stop asking for money. I thought you should know he’s desperate. Be careful. Naomi didn’t respond, but she forwarded the email to Patricia with a note. More evidence of his character.

2 weeks after Naomi left, Dererick showed up at her apartment. She was making dinner when she heard the knock. She looked through the peepphole and saw him standing there. You looked terrible. Unshaven, wearing clothes that hadn’t been washed, dark circles under his eyes. She opened the door but left the chain on.

What do you want? We need to talk. Derek said, “We have nothing to talk about. Everything goes through my lawyer now. I can’t afford a lawyer. I can’t afford anything. The creditors are calling constantly. They want $50,000 immediately or they’re taking legal action. That’s your problem. It’s both our problem. We’re still married. Not for long.

And those are your debts, not mine. Dererick ran his hand through his hair. He looked panicked. Naomi, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need help. You need help? That’s rich. I worked four jobs for 3 years trying to help you, and you called me your slave. I didn’t mean it like that. How did you mean it then? Derek didn’t answer. That’s what I thought.

Naomi said, “Goodbye, Derek.” She closed the door. He knocked again. Naomi. Naomi, please. I’m going to lose the house. The house is in my name. My lawyer is handling it. You have 2 weeks to move out or you’ll be evicted. Where am I supposed to go? I don’t know. Figure it out. You’re good at making other people solve your problems.

Time to solve your own. She walked away from the door. Dererick kept knocking for 10 more minutes. Then he finally left. Naomi sat on her mattress and realized she was shaking. Not from fear, from anger. How dare he show up here? How dare he ask for her help after everything? But she also felt proud. She had held her ground.

She hadn’t let him manipulate her. She hadn’t fallen for his soba story. She was done being his solution. 3 weeks after Naomi left, Patricia called with an update. Dererick responded to the divorce papers. She said, “He’s requesting spousal support.” Naomi laughed. She couldn’t help it. Are you serious? Completely serious. He’s claiming that he gave up his career to support your career.

He says you owe him support while he gets back on his feet. That’s insane. I have documentation proving the opposite. I know, and we’ll fight it, but it tells me he’s desperate. His debts are crushing him, and he’s looking for any way to get money. Will he get support? Not a chance. Not with the evidence we have. But it might delay the divorce a bit while we sort through his claims.

How long? A few months maybe. But Naomi, the end result won’t change. You’re getting divorced. You’re getting the house. And you’re not responsible for his debts. After she hung up, Naomi sat in her apartment and thought about Derek. She wondered where he was living, if he had found a job, if Amber had taken him back.

She wondered if he understood yet what he had lost. Probably not. Men like Derek never did. But that didn’t matter anymore. Derek was his own problem now. And Naomi had better things to think about. Like her interview tomorrow for the full-time position at the hospital. Like the online course she had enrolled in to finish her physical therapy degree.

Like the life she was building slowly, carefully just for herself. 6 months after leaving Derek, Naomi barely recognized her own life. She woke up at 7:00 instead of 4:00. She made coffee in her small kitchen and drank it slowly, sitting on her single chair and looking out the window. The view wasn’t much, just the parking lot and another apartment building, but it was peaceful.

She worked one job now, the full-time position at the hospital and administration, 8 to 5 Monday through Friday. She had weekends, actual weekends where she didn’t work. It felt strange at first, almost wrong. After 3 years of constant work, her body didn’t know how to rest. She would wake up on Saturday morning with anxiety, feeling like she should be somewhere doing something, earning money.

But slowly, she was learning to relax. She was also learning who she was without Derek. That was harder than she expected. For 8 years, she had defined herself in relation to him. Dererick’s wife, Dererick’s supporter, Dererick’s solution to every problem. Now she was just Naomi, and she had to figure out what that meant. therapy helped.

She saw Dr. Helen twice a month now. They talked about boundaries, about self-worth, about recognizing manipulation, about rebuilding trust in herself and others. You’re doing remarkably well, Dr. Helen said during their last session. Most people take years to recover from financial abuse. You’re thriving after just 6 months.

I don’t always feel like I’m thriving, Naomi admitted. Sometimes I feel angry, like I wasted 3 years of my life. You didn’t waste them. You learned from them. You know now what you won’t accept. You know your own strength. Those are valuable lessons. Naomi nodded, but the anger was still there sometimes. Late at night when she was alone, she would think about everything Dererick had taken from her.

Time, money, dreams. But then she would think about what she had gained. Freedom, independence, herself, and the anger would fade a little. The divorce was finalized in March. Dererick had tried to fight it, but his arguments fell apart under scrutiny. Patricia had presented the evidence. Bank statements, text messages, testimony from Brenda and Naomi’s mother. The judge ruled quickly.

Divorce granted. No spousal support for Derek. The house went to Naomi. Dererick’s debts remained his alone. Naomi sold the house 2 weeks later. She didn’t want it. Too many memories. Too many reminders of who she used to be. She made a profit of $40,000 after paying off her small remaining debts. She put half in savings, used the other half to pay for her online courses and buy a reliable car.

The old car, the one that had driven her to four jobs every day, she donated. She didn’t want it either. Everything from her old life she was leaving behind. In April, Naomi enrolled in a full physical therapy program at the community college. Evening classes twice a week. She could work during the day and study at night. It would take 3 years to finish, but she had time now. She had energy now.

She could do this. Her mother came to visit one Sunday and brought lunch. They ate on Naomi’s small couch, the TV playing in the background. You look happy, her mother said. I am most days. I’m proud of you. I know I should have said something years ago when I saw how tired you were, how thin you were getting.

But I didn’t want to interfere in your marriage. It’s okay, Mom. I wouldn’t have listened anyway. I had to figure it out myself. Still, I’m your mother. I should have done more. Naomi squeezed her hand. You’re doing more now. That’s what matters. In May, Brenda invited Naomi to a cookout at her house. My son is bringing some friends.

One of them is single. Nice guy, accountant. Naomi almost said no. She wasn’t ready to date. Wasn’t ready to trust someone new. But then she thought about Dr. Helen’s words. Healing doesn’t mean hiding. It means learning to live again. So, she went to the cookout. Brenda’s son’s friend was named Isaiah. He was tall with an easy smile.

He worked as an accountant at a nonprofit. He asked Naomi about her job, her studies, her interests. He listened when she talked. Really listened. So, what do you do for fun? He asked. Naomi realized she didn’t know. She had spent so many years working. She had forgotten what fun was. I’m still figuring that out, she admitted. Isaiah smiled. That’s fair.

Tell you what, there’s a food festival downtown next Saturday. Want to go? We can try new things and see what you like. Naomi hesitated. Then she thought about Derek about how he never asked what she wanted to do. How he made all the decisions. Isaiah was offering her a choice, not deciding for her, asking.

Sure, she said. That sounds nice. The food festival was fun. They tried Thai food, Mexican food, soul food, Greek food. They walked around talking about everything and nothing. Isaiah told her about his family, his job, his dream of traveling to Japan someday. He asked Naomi about her dreams.

“I want to be a physical therapist,” she said. “I want to help people recover from injuries, build strength, get back to their lives.” “That’s beautiful,” Isaiah said. “Why physical therapy?” “Because I know what it’s like to be broken,” Naomi said. “And I know what it takes to heal. I want to help other people find that strength.

Isaiah looked at her with something like admiration. I think you’re going to be amazing at it. They went on a second date, then a third, then it became a regular thing. Dinner on Wednesdays, movies on Saturdays, long phone calls on Sunday afternoons. Isaiah never pushed, never assumed. He always asked, “What did she want to eat? What movie did she want to see? How was she feeling?” He respected her boundaries.

When she said she needed space, he gave it. When she said she wasn’t ready for something, he understood. I’m divorced, she told him on their fifth date. Recently was bad. I’m still working through a lot. Thank you for telling me, Isaiah said. We can go as slow as you need. No pressure, and he meant it. For the first time in years, Naomi felt seen.

Not as a solution to someone’s problems, not as a paycheck, not as a means to an end, just as herself. By summer, Naomi had a routine. Work classes, study time. Dinner with her mother on Sundays, date nights with Isaiah on Wednesdays and Saturdays, therapy on Thursday afternoons. It was a full life, but it was her life. She ran into Derek once at a coffee shop in September.

He was working there behind the counter taking orders. He looked up when she came in and froze. Naomi almost left, but then she thought, “Why should she? She had every right to be here.” She walked up to the counter. “Hi, Derek,” she said calmly. “Hi.” His voice was quiet. “What can I get you?” “Mium vanilla latte, please.

” He nodded and wrote her name on the cup with shaking hands. While he made her drink, Naomi looked around. The coffee shop was small but clean. Dererick looked exhausted, “Older, thinner.” He handed her the latte. “That’s 450,” he said. She paid with her card. Their fingers didn’t touch. How are you? Derek asked even though he clearly didn’t want to know the answer. I’m good. Really good.

I’m in school studying to be a physical therapist. That’s great. I’m happy for you. He didn’t sound happy. You sounded hollow. How are you? She asked though she wasn’t sure why. Getting by. I’m working here and doing some freelance work on the side trying to pay down the debt. Good luck with that. Derek nodded.

Naomi, I want to say don’t. she interrupted. Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. It’s in the past. Let’s leave it there. She picked up her latte and walked out. Her hands were steady. Her heart was calm. She felt nothing but pity for him. And that’s when she knew she had truly moved on. One year after leaving Derek, Naomi celebrated her birthday in a way she never had before.

She took the whole day off work. She slept in until 9:00. She made pancakes and ate them slowly while watching her favorite show. She went to get her nails done. Then she met her mother and Brenda for lunch at a nice restaurant. No rushing, no squeezing things between shifts, no exhaustion, just a normal relaxing day.