Chapter 2: Chains of Guilt and Gold

"Madison!" Mrs. Whitaker scrambled up, furious. "Good! Very good! You’ve really grown a spine, huh? Looks like you don’t care about your mother’s life anymore. Since that’s the case—"

She struggled to her feet, dusting herself off, voice trembling with rage. Her threats were as predictable as the morning news.

"Of course I care about my mother’s life," I cut her off. "You don’t have to worry about that."

I met her eyes, steady and calm, letting her know I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not today.

"Fine, you said it." Mrs. Whitaker’s eyes turned icy. "It’s the end of the month. Next month, you figure out your mother’s medical bills yourself."

She crossed her arms, lips pressed into a thin line, as if she’d just delivered a death sentence. The old power play.

"Sure!" I agreed breezily, skipping upstairs to my room.

I tossed my hair, not bothering to hide my smile. For the first time, I felt lighter, almost giddy.

My mother had been in a coma for over a year after a car accident. The monthly treatment cost nearly $15,000, and the Whitaker family used this to threaten me.

Every bill was a chain around my ankle, and they never let me forget it. The only thing heavier than the debt was the guilt.

That was why I’d always swallowed my pride and endured everything in the Whitaker household.

I’d learned to keep my head down, to make myself small, to apologize for things I didn’t do. Anything to keep my mom alive.

No one in the Whitaker family thought anything of me.

To them, I was invisible—a shadow in their grand house, never a daughter, never a wife.

Mrs. Whitaker, my so-called mother-in-law, treated me like a servant—making me serve her coffee, wait on her hand and foot.

I knew her coffee order by heart: two sugars, no cream, always in her favorite bone china mug. If I got it wrong, I’d hear about it for days.

Anywhere she was, I never sat—always standing respectfully by her side, like a maid.

My legs would ache, but I never dared complain. It was just another part of the unspoken rules.

With Gloria always there to help plot new ways to torment me, they had endless tricks.

Their creativity knew no bounds—one day it was scrubbing floors, the next it was cleaning out gutters in the rain. Nothing was beneath them.

I never thought, in this day and age, people could come up with so many disgusting ways to torture a daughter-in-law.

Sometimes, I wondered if they stayed up at night brainstorming new punishments, just for the fun of it.

Once, when Mrs. Whitaker was sick, she made me catch her spit with my bare hands.

It was the lowest point of my life—humiliating, degrading, and burned into my memory forever.

Even now, just thinking about it makes me feel physically ill.

I shuddered, rubbing my palms on my jeans as if I could scrub the memory away.

She wasn’t a mother-in-law—she was a vicious old witch.

Honestly, if there were a contest for America’s Worst Mother-in-Law, she’d win by a landslide.

As for Carter Whitaker, the head of the Whitaker family and CEO of Whitaker Holdings—my so-called husband—he never cared about me, never even looked me in the eye.

He was all business—cold, distant, more likely to notice a new stock price than his own wife.

So here’s the question:

Why did I stay? Why put up with all this misery?

If they all looked down on me, why did I marry into the Whitaker family and become Carter Whitaker’s legal wife?

Because Savannah, the family’s pampered little princess and Carter’s beloved younger sister, set her sights on my boyfriend.

Savannah was the kind of girl who never heard the word "no." She’d always gotten what she wanted, and this time, she wanted Ben.

Ben Torres and I were childhood sweethearts—over twenty years together, deeply in love.

We grew up on the same block, went to the same schools, shared dreams and secrets. He was my safe place in a world that never seemed fair.

Savannah fell for Ben at first sight and chased him relentlessly, but he wouldn’t give in.

She sent him gifts, showed up at his office, even called his mom pretending to be a friend. Ben ignored it all—he only had eyes for me.

When she couldn’t steal him away, she wasted away, turning from lovesick to nearly suicidal.

She stopped eating, locked herself in her room, and let everyone know just how miserable she was. The Whitaker house was a pressure cooker.

Mrs. Whitaker, doting on her daughter, was heartbroken.

She called doctors, therapists, even a psychic. Nothing worked. She cried in the kitchen, blaming me for everything.

Carter, a classic doting brother, couldn’t stand it either.

He was used to fixing problems with money and power. This time, he decided to fix Savannah’s broken heart by any means necessary.

They investigated Ben and found he wasn’t just good-looking—he was a top university grad, talented and capable, hired right out of school by a Fortune 500 company and favored by his boss, with a bright future ahead.

He was the golden boy—handsome, smart, the kind of guy mothers dreamed their daughters would marry. I was lucky to have him, and I knew it.

They decided Ben was just barely good enough for their little princess.

After all, only the best for Savannah—even if he was already taken.

Carter had his assistant approach me, tossing a $150,000 check at me to leave Ben.

He slid it across the table at a downtown café, all business. The check looked crisp and cold, just like him.

Ha, who did they think they were?

I almost laughed in his face. Did they think my love could be bought?

Ben already made $80,000 a year, and my monthly salary was over $3,000.

We weren’t rich, but we were comfortable. We celebrated our first raises with takeout pizza and cheap wine.

We’d only just graduated, so we didn’t have much money, but we were content and didn’t crave riches.

We had dreams, not dollar signs. Our happiness wasn’t for sale.

We were young and believed that with hard work, we could build a good future together.

We’d talk late into the night about our plans—saving for a house, maybe a dog, definitely a backyard garden.

The Whitaker family—supposedly some big conglomerate—turned out to be both ruthless and stingy.

All that power, and they thought a check could solve everything. It was almost laughable.

I thought as long as Ben and I stayed true, no one could break us apart.

Love conquers all, right? I believed it. I really did.

But fate is cruel and unpredictable.

Sometimes, life throws a curveball you never see coming.

We couldn’t fight destiny.

Some things are just too big to fight alone.

My mom was in a car accident and didn’t wake up after a day and night of emergency care.

The call came at 2 a.m. I rushed to the hospital, heart pounding, praying for a miracle.

She was badly injured, with multiple fractures.

The doctors spoke in hushed tones, their faces grim. The X-rays looked like a jigsaw puzzle gone wrong.

Just the surgeries cost hundreds of thousands, wiping out all our savings. We’d only been working a year, so we didn’t have much, and we had to borrow from friends to cover the rest.

I maxed out every credit card, called in every favor. Ben did the same. We were drowning, but we kept swimming.

After the surgery, my mom still didn’t wake up.

I sat by her bedside, holding her hand, whispering stories from my childhood, hoping she’d hear me.

The doctor said it was up to fate—she might wake in a month, six months, or maybe never.

He tried to sound hopeful, but his eyes said otherwise. I clung to every word, desperate for good news.

If she didn’t wake, the hospital bills would be enormous—almost $15,000 a month.

Every bill felt like a countdown, a reminder that time was running out.

I simply couldn’t afford it.

No matter how many times I crunched the numbers, it never added up.

I’d been proud to land a job at a top company right out of school, earning over $3,000 a month—pretty good compared to most new grads.

I wished I could call my dad and tell him. He’d passed away years ago, but I knew he’d be proud.

Ben and I had been excitedly planning our future: get married in a few years, buy a house, take care of our families.

We even had a Pinterest board for wedding ideas—simple, nothing fancy, just us and our closest friends.

But reality hit me hard, knocking me senseless.

It was like being sucker-punched in the dark. I never saw it coming.

Ben’s family was just as ordinary as mine—both sets of parents were working-class.

His dad was a mechanic, his mom a nurse. Good people, but no deep pockets.

He blamed himself for not being able to help, growing even more haggard than me.

He stopped shaving, lost weight. I tried to comfort him, but he just hugged me tighter, whispering apologies.

To make matters worse, I’d taken so much time off for my mom that my company gently let me go, giving me severance as per policy.

They said all the right things—"family comes first," "we’re so sorry"—but I knew what it meant.

I was unemployed.

The word tasted bitter. I’d always prided myself on being independent. Now, I felt useless.

I searched everywhere for work, but hit wall after wall.

I sent out resumes by the dozen, checked my email obsessively. Nothing.

I couldn’t find anything close to my old salary, even after lowering my standards, but still no company would hire me.

I was willing to take anything—receptionist, data entry, even cleaning jobs. Still, no luck.

Meanwhile, the hospital kept demanding payment, threatening to stop my mom’s medication if I delayed any longer.

The calls came daily, their tone growing sharper. I started dreading the sound of my phone.

When I was desperate enough to consider payday lenders, Carter came to me again.

He showed up at my apartment, suit perfectly pressed, expression unreadable. This time, he had the upper hand and he knew it.

This time, I didn’t hesitate—I agreed to his terms.

I told myself I was doing it for my mom. There was no other way.

His conditions: I had to break up with Ben in person, say humiliating things to him, and marry Carter.

The words stuck in my throat, but I nodded. I’d do whatever it took.

Savannah thought that because Ben and I had such a deep bond, we might get back together someday. To prevent that, I had to get married—so Ben would give up for good.

It wasn’t enough to break us up. She needed to make sure we’d never find our way back to each other.

She planned to swoop in while he was heartbroken, comfort him, and build a relationship.

She was the kind of girl who thought love could be manufactured, if only the obstacles were removed.

She didn’t trust me to marry anyone else—only if I married into the Whitaker family, under her beloved brother’s watchful eye, could she be sure I’d be kept under control.

It was all about control—keeping me close, keeping Ben within reach.

If I did all this, the Whitaker family promised to cover all my mom’s medical expenses, move her to a private suite, and give her the best medicine.

They dangled hope in front of me, and I reached for it with both hands.

Of course, the money wasn’t a gift—it was a loan.

Nothing in this world came free, especially from the Whitakers.

Every month, for every payment they made, I had to sign an IOU, promising to pay it all back later.

I signed my name so many times, my hand cramped. Each signature felt like another link in my chain.

The Whitaker family were sharks—calculating to the bone.

They could squeeze a penny until it screamed.

They destroyed my relationship with Ben without losing a cent.

It was a win-win for them. For me, it was a nightmare.

According to Carter, if my mom ever woke up and got better, or if the worst happened and she passed away, I wouldn’t need the Whitaker family’s money anymore—they worried I’d just leave without a care.

They wanted leverage, a guarantee I’d stay put.

But as long as I owed them, I’d never escape their control.

I was trapped, and they held the key.

I knew I’d probably never be able to pay them back, meaning I’d be trapped in the Whitaker family for life, never free.

It was a life sentence, with no parole.

But with no choice, I couldn’t abandon my mom—no matter how harsh the terms, I had to agree.

I’d do anything for her, even if it meant sacrificing myself.

Carter drove his luxury SUV and took me to see Ben.

The car was silent, the air thick with tension. I stared out the window, memorizing the city lights, wishing I could disappear.

I coldly told Ben he was too poor to help me.

The words tasted like poison. I watched his face crumble, bit by bit.

His hands shook, and I saw the moment his heart broke. I wanted to scream, to take it all back, but I couldn’t.

I clung to Carter’s arm, resting my head on his shoulder, and spat out the cruel words: "This is my fiancé, the CEO of Whitaker Holdings. We’re getting married. Don’t bother me again."

I forced myself to look bored, even as my insides twisted in agony.

Ben grabbed my clothes, begging in agony: "Don’t go. I’ll borrow money if I have to. Please, don’t leave me!"

His voice cracked, tears streaming down his face. I’d never seen him so desperate.

I shook him off coldly and left without a backward glance.

I kept walking, my legs numb, my heart shattering with every step.

Soon after, I married Carter.

The courthouse was cold and impersonal. We signed the papers, and that was that.

Just the paperwork—no wedding.

No flowers, no vows, no family gathered round. Just signatures and silence.

Which suited me just fine.

I didn’t want anyone to see me like this—broken and defeated.

Later, I heard Ben went abroad. His company needed someone stationed overseas, and he volunteered.

He left without saying goodbye. I can’t blame him.

As soon as he left, Savannah followed him.

She packed her bags and booked a ticket, determined to chase her fantasy.

I don’t know if she ever got what she wanted, or how things turned out between them.

I stopped checking social media, stopped asking mutual friends. It was too painful.

I betrayed Ben; my punishment was a lifetime without freedom.

I carried that guilt everywhere, a weight I could never set down.

All I hope for now is that my mom wakes up soon and gets better.

Every morning, I whispered the same prayer, hoping for a miracle.

As for me, I’ll just scrape by.

I learned to survive on scraps—emotionally and financially.

Even if life feels meaningless, I’ll endure it, taking it one day at a time.

Sometimes, that’s all you can do.