Chapter 2She Was Reborn to Put Me in Prison

The first year of marriage was my golden window for taming her.

I took away her bank cards and put her on a fixed allowance of $360 a month.

Groceries, household supplies, anything she wanted for herself. It all came out of that.

At first, she wasn't used to it. She said she wanted to replace her usual skincare products.

They cost about $200, so she asked me for extra money.

I threw the household bills down in front of her.

"Do the math yourself! HOA fees, gas, electric, water... you think any of that is free? I'm out there killing myself, and you're at home living it up. Just use drugstore brands. You're home all day. Who are you putting on makeup for?"

Her eyes turned red instantly, and she lowered her head. "I understand."

After that, she never bought anything expensive again.

When her former coworkers invited her to dinner, she told me three days in advance.

She said she'd be going to a department get-together and would be back by eight.

I said she could go. Then that afternoon, I texted her and claimed the company needed a last-minute contract revision.

"I'll probably be working late. Just head home after dinner."

She agreed. But I never worked late that night.

By six I had driven to the restaurant where they were eating, and I sat in my car watching them come out laughing and chatting.

She stood at the entrance saying goodbye to everyone, beaming, holding up her phone for group selfies.

Only after everyone left did she look down to order a ride.

I honked, and when she turned and saw my car, she jogged over excitedly and pulled open the passenger door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, delighted as she climbed in.

"I was worried about you. It's getting late."

I reached over to buckle her seat belt. When the back of my hand brushed her chest, she flinched slightly.

"Did you have fun?" I asked gently.

"It was great." She smiled. "Anna said she's getting engaged next month."

"Yeah." I started the car. "By the way, who picked up the check tonight?"

She paused for a second. "I did. They said they'd treat next time."

"How much?"

"Sixty dollars."

"Sixty dollars?" My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I wasn't pleased.

"Elena, you only get $360 a month. One dinner just ate up a sixth of it. Didn't I tell you the company's been struggling? That things are tight and we need to live frugally?"

She went silent. I continued.

"I'm not saying you can't have friends. But we need to live within our means. You're not working anymore. You'll barely keep in touch with those coworkers anyway. You don't have to go every time."

She said nothing. After a long while, she murmured, "Okay."

After that, she rarely left the house.

Late one night, I got up for water and found her curled up on the couch scrolling through Instagram.

She flicked through the feed fast, but lingered over every post for a long time.

I asked her what she was doing. She locked the screen, said it was nothing, and buried her face in a throw pillow.

Watching her curled up like that, I thought she looked like a domesticated cat.

She couldn't understand the calls of the strays outside anymore. All she recognized was the sound of my footsteps and the pop of a can being opened.