The silence that followed was crushing. Gail stared at her, his surprise slowly turning to rage.
"What are you saying, Christine?"
"That's right. I want a divorce. I don't love you anymore, Gail."
Gail's response was instant and brutal.
He shoved her against the wall, the sound of her back hitting it echoing through the room. Christine's breathing quickened, fear taking over her body.
"You think you can end it like this with me?" Gail's voice was a low, threatening growl.
Christine shuddered, remembering all the times he'd hurt her. "I forgot how aggressive you can be, Gail," she thought as flashes of past violence ran through her mind. Gail, unable to bear being discarded, kept hurting her.
"You've lost your mind, Christine. We're married, and that's how it's staying. Understand?"
She screamed for help: "Please, help me!" Her voice cut through the night. The neighbors heard her cries and called the police. The tension in the room was palpable.
Christine fought desperately to break free, but Gail's strength pinned her.
"Please, stop! You're hurting me!" she begged, but he didn't relent. Suddenly, police sirens shattered the threatening silence.
The doorbell rang.
"Ding Dong."
Gail opened the door with a cynical smile, trying to hide his anger.
"Can I help you?"
The officers said, "We received a report of a woman screaming for help here."
Gail stammered, "What? No! We're just having a marital spat. Right, honey?"
Christine replied, "I want to report him. He tried to assault me."
The officers exchanged glances. One chuckled dismissively.
"You know this is just a couple's squabble," he said, rolling his eyes. "Sure, ma'am. Sure."
Christine, trembling, stared at them in disbelief.
"I'm serious. I want to report him."
The other officer scoffed, shaking his head. "You know how many women go back to their husbands after a night like this? Sort this out yourselves. And don't scream for help just because you had a fight."
Gail added sarcastically, "She's been overdramatic lately."
Christine froze as the officers left, their laughter and indifference ringing in her ears.
Gail shut the door with a victorious smirk, turning slowly to her.
"See? No one's going to help you, Christine. You're stuck with me."
She felt a wave of despair but refused to show fear.
Instead, she held her head high and retreated to her bedroom to think. Gail watched her but said nothing, convinced he'd won.
Christine closed the door and collapsed onto the bed, silent tears streaming down her face. Frustration and rage boiled inside her.
"I need to get rid of him," she thought, her heart racing. "I have to find a way out."
In the days that followed, Christine began plotting.
She knew she had to be careful—one misstep could endanger her again. She secretly saved every penny she could. She needed money to start a new life, free from Gail.
She also sought allies. Roderick, her boss, seemed trustworthy.
Christine consulted domestic violence lawyers, too. She needed a solid plan and legal support to ensure her safety and divorce.
At work, she doubled her efforts. Her career could be her key to freedom. She worked tirelessly to impress Roderick and secure her position.
She knew professional success would help her escape Gail.
The day of her meeting with Roderick arrived. Nervous but determined, she walked into the conference room with confidence, ready to present her ideas for Novatech's expansion.
During the meeting, Christine spoke with clarity and passion. Roderick and the executives were impressed.
"Christine, your ideas are exactly what Novatech needs," Roderick said, smiling.
The meeting was a success, filling Christine with hope.
She was on the right path to change her fate.
Back at her desk, Christine felt stronger and more determined than ever.
She began crafting her plan carefully. Gail was cunning, but she was smarter. She took a deep breath, wiped her tears, and weighed her options.
She opened her laptop and checked her bank account—only $300. Previously dependent on Gail, she now resolved to change her financial future. She invested in stocks she knew would rise.
"Finally, an exit," she thought.
To celebrate, she treated herself to ice cream and pulled out her tablet to refine her plan.
As she ate, she glanced around the park—lively with children's laughter, people walking dogs, and cyclists on winding trails. The fresh scent of cut grass mingled with the breeze.
Roderick walked by.
"Roderick?" She arched her brows in surprise.
He asked, "Enjoying your day off?"
She smiled shyly. "Yes. Want to join me?"
"No, but join me for lunch?"
After hesitating—"New timeline, new choices"—she accepted.
The upscale restaurant had elegant décor, soft piano music, and gourmet aromas. Christine felt out of place but tried to relax.
When their meals arrived, Roderick removed his glasses to eat. Christine caught herself staring.
"Enjoying the food?" he asked.
"It's more appealing than I imagined," she blurted, blushing at the double meaning.
Roderick chuckled. "Glad you're enjoying it."
Christine smiled, sensing a new connection.
In the following days, Christine observed Gail's habits while pretending submission. She invested shrewdly, gaining financial independence.
At work, her project with Roderick succeeded.
"Well done, Christine," Victoria sneered, her smile venomous. "You always get what you want."
Christine kept calm, hiding her pain.
After work, Roderick congratulated her.
"You outdid yourself," he said, his gaze piercing.
"Thank you," she replied, composed.
In the elevator, tension lingered. "Long day," Roderick remarked.
"Very," she agreed.
Outside, he offered her a ride.
"No need—I'll take a taxi," she said.
"It's no trouble," he insisted.
"I have errands," she lied.
As she left, an icy shiver hit her. Across the street stood the witch from her dreams, watching silently. Then—gone.
Christine stumbled, snapping her heel and crying out in pain.
"Christine! Are you okay?" Roderick rushed over.
"Twisted my ankle," she winced.
At the hospital, her foot was casted. Roderick drove her home, their eyes locking—something deeper flickered between them.
Days later, Gail barked before work:
"Make dinner. You're not sick."
She nodded, seething.
Later, Roderick knocked, holding coffee and croissants.
"Breakfast," he smiled.
She let him in, grateful.
As they talked, Christine checked her stock spreadsheets. Roderick noticed.
"What's that?"
"Microsoft's stock will rise 15% tomorrow."
"How do you know?" he pressed.
"Just a hunch," she deflected.
Tension hung in the air—but Roderick dropped it.