On my wedding night, my mother-in-law threw a bucket of dirty underwear belonging to all the men in the family at me and said, “You’re the wife now. It’s your job to wash it.” I refused, and my husband hit me in front of her. I didn’t scream. I grabbed my suitcase and called my lawyer… without telling them who I really was.

At six o'clock that evening, the rain began to fall over Atlanta, slicking the streets in reflections of red and blue light.

Jonathan Miller sat inside his leased BMW in the parking lot of a secluded diner on the outskirts of the city. His tie was gone, his suit jacket was stained, and his hands were shaking so violently he could barely hold his phone.

He had called twenty different friends, corporate contacts, and former college fraternity brothers over the past four hours. Every single one of them had hung up the moment he mentioned needing money. News of his total ruin and the impending criminal charges had reached every corner of the city. He was radioactive.

His phone screen lit up. It was an incoming call from an unlisted, secure number.

Jonathan snatched it up, pressing it to his ear with desperate speed. "Hello?! Hello! Charlotte is that you?!"

"Jonathan," my voice came through the speaker, calm, serene, and infinitely distant.

"Charlotte!" Jonathan sobbed, tears spilling out over his bruised, exhausted face. "Charlotte, please! I'm sorry! I am so, so sorry! I was wrong! My mom was wrong! Please, I'll do anything! I'll kneel in front of you! I'll wash your shoes! Just please don't take everything away from me!"

"Do you remember what you said to me on the sidewalk last night, Jonathan?" I asked quietly, sitting in my warm penthouse, sipping a cup of black tea.

Jonathan choked on his own breath. "I... I was angry... I didn't mean it..."

"You told me to see how long I would last without you," I said softly. "You said that in a week, I would come crawling back on my knees begging you to take me back."

"I was stupid! I was a fool!" Jonathan screamed into the phone. "Please, Charlotte, my dad’s company is bankrupt! My mom is having a panic attack! My entire life is gone!"

"Your life isn't gone yet, Jonathan," I replied, my voice dropping to an icy whisper. "You still have your freedom. For another thirty seconds."

Jonathan froze. "What... what do you mean?"

Outside his car window, flashing red and blue lights suddenly illuminated the dark parking lot. Three police cruisers pulled into the diner lot, blocking his BMW from the front and rear. Six armed officers stepped out into the rain, their guns drawn, their flashlights flashing directly through his windshield.

"Jonathan Miller!" an officer’s voice boomed through a megaphone. "Step out of the vehicle with your hands behind your head! You are under arrest for felony domestic battery, corporate fraud, and grand larceny!"

Jonathan dropped his phone onto the floorboard. He looked at the flashing lights, the rain pouring down the glass, and the armed officers approaching his door.

"Charlotte..." he whimpered into the dark cabin of his car.

I disconnected the line.

The officers pulled Jonathan’s door open, grabbed him by his collar, and slammed him face-down onto the wet asphalt. The icy, dirty rainwater pooled around his face—the exact same sensation he had inflicted on me sixteen hours earlier.

He screamed as the steel handcuffs snapped tightly around his wrists, locking his hands behind his back.