He Paid Me 1 Dollar For 10 Pounds, He Paid Her 100,000 For A Bag Chapter 01

He Paid Me 1 Dollar For 10 Pounds, He Paid Her 100,000 For A Bag Chapter 01

Sixty-six pounds. That’s how much weight I put on during my pregnancy.

My husband Everett Halstead cut me off financially. Said he was doing it to motivate me to lose the weight.

“Drop eleven pounds, and I’ll give you a thousand bucks.”

“Every dollar you get depends on the scale. That’s the deal until you’re back to your pre-baby weight.”

My next prenatal appointment would cost $968 out of pocket.

I starved myself for two weeks, trying to scrape together enough money.

But I only lost three pounds.

“Are you even taking this seriously?!”

“If you can’t hit eleven pounds, I won’t give you the thousand!”

My stomach was eating itself alive.

Three days without food. I finally dropped the remaining eight pounds.

I sent him a picture of the scale and stood at the hospital payment window, refreshing my phone over and over, silently pleading for him to transfer the money.

The notification came through. [$1.00 transferred.]

He didn’t respond for three hours.

When he finally did, it was one line.

[That was my assistant. I’ll send the rest now.]

I didn’t fight him on it. I took the money.

I canceled the prenatal appointment. Booked an abortion instead.

He wanted me to lose weight? Fine. Losing the baby would be the fastest way.

…

The abortion was quick. Quicker than I thought it would be.

Three years of trying. Hormone shots. Needles and hope and prayers. Gone in under an hour.

I sat in a plastic recovery room chair for two hours. Alone.

Everett didn’t call. Not once.

My phone buzzed.

A message from his assistant, Mallory Keaton: a photo of her holding a designer handbag.

[Mr. Halstead, you’re too generous!! I’ve been dying for this bag!]

A hundred thousand dollars for a handbag.

My prenatal appointment was less than a thousand.

The hunger hit again, gnawing and sharp.

I used to be desperate to eat. Now I couldn’t force anything down.

I dragged myself up and walked the three miles back to the house.

I pushed through the front door, gasping for air. A scale sat in the entryway. Brand new.

“Mrs. Halstead, you’re home?”

“Ms. Keaton had this brought in. For your weight loss.”

“She said if you haven’t lost weight today, you aren’t allowed inside…”

Martha Doyle hovered in the foyer, blocking my way. She couldn’t meet my eyes.

I looked past her, into the house.

Mallory was standing next to Everett. Wearing my dress. The one that fit me before the pregnancy.

“Mr. Halstead, I’m so sorry. I got my period unexpectedly and ruined my skirt.”

“I borrowed one of your wife’s dresses. She won’t mind, right?”

“Why would she care?”

“It’s not like she fits into it anymore.”

Everett took off his glasses. Something flickered behind his expression—guilt, maybe—but not enough to stop him.

“Thanks for filling in today. If I’d brought Tessa to that investor summit, she would’ve been a joke.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“My wife’s supposed to represent me. Not show up looking like a fat woman.”

“I won’t hand my competitors ammunition.”

Fat woman. The words buried themselves somewhere behind my ribs and stayed there, throbbing.

I stood in the doorway. I couldn’t move.

This pregnancy had wrecked my body from the start.

I threw up blood. Dark splotches bloomed across my skin.

At the worst point, a fever spiked out of nowhere and wouldn’t break.

I’d considered getting rid of the baby.

Everett had looked at me with those desperate eyes and begged me to keep it. Said it would make us a real family.

So I kept it. Swallowed the pills. Took the shots.

The weight piled on, and I couldn’t stop it.

He’d promised me once that he would love me no matter what I looked like.

And now, without a second thought, he’d called me a fat woman.

“Mr. Halstead, your wife is back!”

“Oh my God. What happened to you?”

“She smells awful…”

Mallory pressed her hand over her mouth and let the rest of the sentence die.

Everett frowned. He walked to the door slowly, like he was bracing himself.

The moment he saw me, disgust crossed his face. He buried it fast, but not fast enough.