Page 70 of The Humiliated Wife
She understood perfectly. He thought she was a risk. A newly single woman with a teacher's salary, probably desperate enough to take anything.
And the worst part was, he wasn't entirely wrong.
"Can I think about it?" she asked.
"Sure, sure. But don't take too long. Place like this, in this market? It'll be gone by the weekend."
Fiona nodded and made her way toward the door, eager to escape the claustrophobic space and his knowing smirk.
"Oh, and honey?" he called after her. "Next time you look at apartments, maybe dress up a little? First impressions matter."
Fiona glanced down at her cardigan and neat slacks—the same outfit she'd worn to teach twenty-three ten-year-olds that morning, the same style she'd worn to parent conferences and faculty meetings. Professional. Appropriate.
Apparently not impressive enough for a studio apartment with a shared bathroom.
"I'll keep that in mind," she said, and walked out.
In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. The cigarette smell was almost comforting compared to the apartment's staleness.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Emma:How's the apartment hunting going?
Fiona stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back:Learning experiences.
She could afford this place. Barely. It would mean giving up coffee shops and new books and any hope of building savings for at least a year. It would mean eating a lot of peanut butter sandwiches and walking instead of driving when possible.
But it would be hers.
No one else's name on the lease. No one else deciding if she was worth the risk.
She pushed off from the wall and headed toward the exit, already mentally calculating whether she could swing the extra month's rent.
It wasn't the life she'd planned. But it was the life she was choosing.
She shouldn't have stoppedat this grocery store. It was too close to the apartment she used to share with Dean, too familiar. But she hadn’t been thinking about him for once. She’d been thinking about the apartment viewing, trying to process what her life was becoming, and Emma needed milk. And coffee.
She kept glancing toward the entrance as she shopped, half-expecting to see Dean's familiar silhouette. The last thing she needed today was to run into him while buying store-brand groceries and calculating whether she could afford the good yogurt.
Fiona was reaching for the coffee when she heard the voice behind her.
"Well, well. If it isn't the famous Fiona."
She turned. Roxanne stood in the grocery aisle, perfectly put-together in an elegant belted coat, sleek hair twisted into a French knot, lipstick flawless. She looked like she’d stepped out of a skincare commercial. Fiona was in the same cardigan and slacks that the landlord had already insulted. She felt suddenly frumpy by comparison.
"Roxanne," Fiona said evenly. "Hi."
"How are you holding up?" Roxanne said, gliding a little closer. Her smile was cool, carnivorous. "This must all be so... overwhelming."
"I'm fine," Fiona said, turning back to the shelves. Store-brand medium roast.
"It's so brave of you, really." Roxanne's voice lacked even the pretense of kindness. "Starting over from scratch like this."
Fiona grabbed her coffee and moved toward her cart. "Well, it was nice seeing you?—"
"You know," Roxanne said, following her, "I have to tell you about the most interesting presentation we had at work recently."
Despite herself, Fiona slowed.
"Richard was showing examples of brilliant content strategy," Roxanne continued, clearly delighted to have caught Fiona's attention. "And guess what made it onto the big screen? That hilarious account about you."
