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“Seriously, Jocelyn.”
He used the same slow, patronizing tone he always adopted whenever he wanted me to believe I was overreacting.
“You make plenty of money,” he continued. “Mom’s been stressed lately. A shopping day will make her feel better.”
I looked from him to his mother.
“So buying designer clothes matters more than my doctor’s appointment?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh.
“You’re making this far more dramatic than it needs to be. It’s only a checkup. Push it back a few days. You’ll be fine.”
Not once did he ask how badly I felt.
He didn’t volunteer to drive Rita himself.
He never suggested she call a rideshare, ask another friend, or simply wait until my appointment was over.
As far as he was concerned, my role had already been assigned.
I would chauffeur them to the mall, wait until they finished shopping, and hand over my credit card when it was time to pay.
I tightened my grip on the edge of the counter.
For a brief second, I almost lost my composure.
I wanted to remind Gordon of every overnight emergency I had handled while he slept peacefully beside me. I wanted to count every bill I had paid, every shopping spree I had funded for his mother, and every time I had sacrificed my own needs to keep them comfortable.
Then I noticed Rita wasn’t paying attention anymore.
She had already opened a luxury shopping app on her phone.
Her eyes lit up as she scrolled through handbags, designer watches, and high-end shoes. She quietly repeated the name of a limited-edition purse she hoped would still be available. While I stood only a few feet away struggling to stay upright through the pain, she was mentally spending thousands of dollars from my credit card.
That was when everything finally made sense.
To them, I wasn’t a wife.
I wasn’t a daughter-in-law.
I was simply a driver with an unlimited credit limit.
No argument would suddenly make them care.
No explanation of my symptoms would create compassion that had never existed.
So I stopped trying.
I released my grip on the counter and deliberately relaxed my expression.
“You know what?” I said calmly. “You’re right.”
Gordon looked surprised.
Rita finally lifted her eyes from her phone.
“A few hours probably won’t matter,” I continued. “Go get ready. I’ll drive you to the Galleria.”
Rita’s entire face brightened.
“And you’ll pay for everything?”
I smiled.
“I’ll take care of whatever you pick.”
Gordon smiled as though he had won another argument.
“I knew you’d come around.”
Neither of them realized I had already made a completely different decision.
At exactly nine that morning, we left the house.
The South Florida sun reflected off rows of tiled rooftops, while the humid air already hinted at another sweltering day.
I sat behind the wheel.
Rita claimed the front passenger seat, and Gordon stretched out comfortably in the back as though I were his personal chauffeur.
As traffic thickened, the ache beneath my ribs intensified into a sharp cramp. I tightened both hands around the steering wheel and focused on keeping my breathing steady.
Rita noticed absolutely nothing.
She took out her phone, called her friend Brenda, and immediately switched the conversation to speaker.
“Yes, Brenda, we’re on our way,” she announced cheerfully. “Jocelyn’s taking me to the private sale.”
Brenda replied, though her voice was too quiet for me to make out the words.
Rita laughed.
“I really hope that limited-edition handbag is still there. Maybe I’ll grab the matching wallet too. You know my daughter-in-law—she insisted on treating me.”
I glanced sideways.
I had never said anything of the sort.
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