One Month As His Secetary

NewBegining

Chapter Four

The house no longer felt like a home, but a prison that was suffocating and cold. I sat on the bed, holding Jennifer tightly as she slept. Her small body curled up to mine made my heart ache. She didn't understand what was happening, but she could feel it. She could feel the tension, the cracks in our family now too wide to ignore.

I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't. My mind was racing with plans, desperation clawing at me. I couldn't stay here, not with Charles and Mia, not in this toxic environment where my daughter was a bystander to their cruel games. Where would I go? I had no savings to my name and no family to turn to. For the first time in my life, I felt truly cornered.

Morning came on gradually, and with it, a sliver of resolve. I couldn't let this situation define me. I had to act. I had to take control of my life once more, not for my sake but my daughter's sake. The plan started taking shape, tentatively in my mind yet clear: I would start seeking work and finding some steady income. After that, file for divorce-the only way out.

First, I called a lawyer. It seemed to take twice the effort than it should as I reached for my phone and dialed the number saved for emergencies. My lawyer, Mr. Nolan, was a nice man who had helped me a few times before with minor legal issues.

When he picked up, there was a little hesitation in saying the words out loud; they caught in my throat. Finally, I made myself say it.

Mr. Nolan, I want to file for divorce," I said, my voice quivering.

A pause, and then his calm, professional tone pierced through. "Anna, are you sure about this? Divorce is a big step. Have you thought it through?

"I have thought about it," I said firmly, my hands shaking. "It is not a marriage anymore. Charles has. he's betrayed me, and I cannot stay in this situation. I need to protect my daughter, and I cannot do that here."

He sighed but didn't have any judgment in his voice. "Alright. I'll start preparing the documents. Do you have anywhere to go when this is filed?

It was like a brick hitting me. "Not yet," I confessed. "But I'm working on it. I'm going to look for a job, and when I have one, then I'll work the rest out."

We finished our call with the promise to see each other later that week. I hung up, and immediately a small wave of relief washed over me. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

The next was to update my résumé. Sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop, Jennifer playing quietly beside me with her toys, it had been years since I last worked, and Charles had insisted I stay home after we got married and he would take care of everything. Now, I regret ever listening to him.

I stared at the blank document for a long time, wondering if I even had anything to offer anymore. But then I reminded myself: I had to do this. For Jennifer. For us. Slowly, I began typing.

I listed my qualifications, any experience as a secretary before marriage, and any skills I could think of that might make me stand out. By the time I was done, the document looked decent. Not perfect, but enough to get me started.

Over the next few days, I scoured job listings, focusing on companies with good reputations where I could work as a secretary. To several of these places, I sent out my résumé, each email filling me with both hope and anxiety. What if nobody hired me? What if I couldn't do this?

But I pushed those thoughts aside. I couldn't afford to doubt myself.

Jennifer's giggles broke my concentration, and I turned to see her playing with one of her dolls, bright despite everything. That little moment gave me strength. I had to succeed. I had to create a better life for her.

By the end of the week, I received a call from one of those companies-a huge and reputable firm known for its good reputation in treating its own employees. They wanted to interview me. My heart was beating as I set an appointment. This could be it-this could be the break I needed to get started.

I spent the eve of my interview studying, rehearsing a range of possible questions, along with what answers I thought correspondingly suited best. I fished out the finest and best business wear, kept all these years somewhere deep at the back in the closet and, readied with everything impeccable.

The day of the interview, I left her at a neighbor's-a kindly friendly woman who always seemed willing-and started off to the company. It was an imposing building with a glass exterior that glittered in the sun. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and went inside.

It went better than I thought it would: the manager was nice but still professional, asking me about my experience and how I would handle certain situations. I answered with assurance, drawing from my past work.

A few days later came that call: I got the job.

With gratitude and relief, I thanked them as tears of joy welled in my eyes. This was it-the first step toward independence, toward freedom.

Later that evening, I sat Jennifer down and told her the news. "Mommy got a job," I said, smiling through tears.

Jennifer's face brightened up. "Does that mean we'll be okay, Mommy?"

I pulled her into a tight hug. "Yes, sweetheart, we'll be okay. I promise."

As I held her, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. This was just the beginning, but it was enough to give me hope. I wasn’t just surviving anymore—I was fighting. For her. For us. And I wouldn’t stop until we had the life we deser