My Wife Sells Goods to Support Us, Yet I Jailed Her

After we got married, my wife went to the night market to run a stall and support us, while I stayed home sprawled on the couch bingeing shows and playing games.

She'd come home wrung out, and before she could even get a sip of water down, I'd bark at her like I was giving an order: Go fill a basin with hot water. Wash my feet.

All she did was cry, quiet and wronged. "Douglas Dickerson, I married you without asking for a single cent of a dowry. I never made you buy a car or a house. Can't you just treat me a little better?"

I shot her a cold look. "Myra Jennings, a girl with your prospects landing a guy like me? That's your ancestors' graves smoking good luck, you get it? If you don't want to serve me, then leave!"

Myra went silent at once, obediently fetched the water, and scrubbed my feet while wiping away her tears.

I didn't feel a thing for her.

I only thought she had it coming.

After she finished washing my feet, Myra hesitated, then said she still hadn't had dinner and asked if she could order some takeout for herself. Just a ten-dollar box of fried rice would do.

The payment code she used at her stall was mine. She didn't have a cent on her, so if she wanted to eat, she had to ask me.

I frowned. "Order takeout? What a waste of money. Isn't there instant noodles in the kitchen? Go cook them yourself."

Myra opened her mouth, then closed it, and went quietly to the kitchen to cook a pack of instant noodles. She didn't dare even add an egg, choking it down with her tears.

I didn't pity her.

Looking at the two thousand dollars in the balance, the money she'd made at the stall today, I sent a voice message to my buddy Jeremy Pruitt.

"Come on, let's go grab some late-night eats and hit up karaoke. My treat!"

Jeremy tried to talk me down. "Man, quit acting up. Your wife's out there at the crack of dawn till late, busting herself to earn a little money. Just live right, would you?"

I said impatiently, "What's with all the nagging? You don't come, I'll just call some girl to keep me company!"

Jeremy started lecturing me. "Bro, you've gone too far. Your wife's got the looks, she's got the figure, and she's still willing to work to support you. You keep acting like this, you trying to get divorced and end up a bachelor?"

I gave a cold laugh. "If you really think Myra's such a catch, I'll divorce her and let her be with you, how about that?"

Jeremy cursed me out, said I was sick in the head, said he wouldn't be brothers with a piece of trash with values like mine anymore.

Fed up, I took it out on Myra, who was still sipping her instant noodle broth. "You bitch! Because of you, I fell out with my brother. What a jinx!"

Myra pressed her lips together and didn't dare talk back, her face all innocent and pitiful.

"Just looking at you pisses me off!"

I couldn't be bothered to give her another glance. I got dressed and got ready to go out and have a good time on my own.

"Douglas"

Myra called out to stop me.

I turned around, irritated. "Spit it out!"

Myra bit her lip and said in a pleading tone, "The stock's all sold out. I have to restock tomorrow. Can you skip going out tonight?"

That reason worked. It stopped me.

If she screwed up the restocking, she wouldn't be able to run the stall and make money for me.

"Next time you're restocking, say so ahead of time. Don't hold up my real business."

Grudgingly, I gave up on going out to enjoy myself, then added, still sour, "You're sleeping on the couch tonight. Don't come near me."

With that I slammed the bedroom door shut.

Didn't even hand her a blanket.

But I didn't feel the least bit guilty.

She'd brought all of this on herself.

The next morning I woke to breakfast already made.

Myra's eyes were red and swollen. She'd clearly spent much of last night crying on the couch.

But I felt nothing for her. I looked at the fried eggs she'd made, the hash browns, the fresh coffee.

Then I flipped the whole table over. "This is all you know how to make, huh? Makes me sick."

Temper spent, I ordered myself a beef soup with extra meat.

Myra picked the eggs and hash browns up off the floor and ate them, tears welling, one bite at a time, not daring to waste a scrap.

When the delivery came, I took my time finishing the soup, then drove us to the clothing wholesale market.

Myra was a beautiful woman, tall and slim. Standing there, she looked like a model.

She had a good eye too, and the stock she picked always sold well.

That was why the stall business had always done fine.

"Sir, could you do a little better on the price?"

She'd settled on one stall's goods and started haggling with the owner.

The stall owner was a beefy, mean-faced type who looked more like a street tough than a businessman. The second he heard her try to knock the price down, he waved a hand, already irritated. "That's the price. Take it or leave it."

Myra shot me a pleading look.

I was more impatient than he was. "What are you looking at me for? If you think it's good, take it. If not, go find another stall."

If the money weren't all sitting in my pocket, I wouldn't have bothered making this trip at all.

My tone drove the rims of her eyes red, but she still asked carefully, "Sir, if there's a problem with the goods, can they be returned or exchanged?"

Seeing I wouldn't speak up for my own wife, the owner got even more cocky. "You blind? Check the goods before you buy. Once you walk out that door, not my problem."

Even the other customers picking through the racks couldn't stand his attitude, muttering under their breath.

"First time I've seen an owner this nasty. You're handing him money and he's snapping at you."

"Right? Acts like you owe him. However good the stock is, you don't buy from a guy like that."

A few grumbles later, the others drifted away from the stall one by one.

I said nothing.

Because I knew.

Myra would buy from this bully for sure.

"I liked their stock. Good quality, new styles. It'll sell fast at the stall. Owners with a temper, that's normal, don't let it bother you, honey."

Just as I'd figured. Not only did Myra let the owner's attitude slide, she went out of her way to explain it to me.

I said, not caring either way, "Suits me. If you think it'll sell, grab it. Don't drag it out."

She was the one going out to run the stall anyway.

Money comes in, I spend it.

No money comes in, I take it out on her.

I couldn't be bothered worrying about any of it.

Myra quickly picked out several big bundles of goods.

Back home, I went back to my shows and games.

Myra kept busy sorting the stock, getting ready to head out to the stall that night.

Once she was done, she asked me, timid in the eyes, "Honey, what do you want for dinner? I'll go get groceries."

I barely lifted my eyelids. "Don't bother about me. I'm going out for a big dinner. You're hungry, keep eating your instant noodles."

I knew her little game.

Saying she'd cook for me was really just an excuse to get a decent meal in herself.

I wasn't about to give her the chance.

Her expression stiffened, and a flicker of disappointment showed in her eyes.

Maybe she was just used to it. She said nothing, swallowed the hurt, and went to the kitchen to boil her instant noodles.

I didn't think I was being unreasonable.

This was her second marriage. Her first husband had died in an accident.

And she was the one who'd offered it up front, no bride price, no car, no house, just a hot meal and enough not to starve.

If not for that, I'd never have married a widow who buried the men in her life.

So however great the injustice, she had to take it.

"Honey, I'm off to the stall."

Myra drank the last of her noodle broth, called out to me, hoisted the two big bundles, and went out the door.

I didn't even glance at her, too busy with the latest episode of my show.

Only, most days she stayed out running the stall until late into the night.

Today, in under an hour, she was back hauling those same two bundles, and her face was tight with panic.

"Get chased off by the city inspectors?"

I couldn't help asking.

Myra shook her head, flustered and urgent. "Honey, we got scammed. The clothes are all defective. They can't be sold at all!"

Frowning, I opened a bundle and looked.

Every piece was either torn or covered in stains. There was no selling any of it.

I snapped at her right away. "You picked the stock, didn't you? Are you blind? How did you not catch this then?"

Myra explained, blaming herself. "The samples looked fine at the time. The owner must have swapped in defective knockoff stock behind my back"

I cut her off. "Get to the point. What now?"

Myra bit her lip. "We can't just eat a loss this big. Tomorrow I'll go back to the owner and return them."

I yelled at her, irritated. "You really are useless. Can't even buy stock without getting played. Didn't the guy already say it? All sales final once you're out the door. There's no way he takes it back. Just eat it!"

That stall owner was clearly not someone to mess with. I wasn't about to go looking for trouble.

Myra said, unwilling, "This is fifty thousand in stock. How many days at the stall would it take me to earn that back? A loss this big, I'm not eating it. If you won't help, I'll go fight the owner for it myself."

I told her, do whatever you want, just don't count on me for any of it.

Myra cried out of sheer anger, and shedding the meek, put-upon manner she always wore, she screamed at me.

"Douglas Dickerson, is bullying me at home the only thing you're good for? Somebody cheats you out of fifty thousand and you don't dare go stand up for it. You even call yourself a man?"

I smiled.

She couldn't hold it in after all. She was about to show her true face.