Chapter 7

"Jeffery, do you want to be charged with marital rape?"

I resisted with all my might.

He froze, stopping his actions, and yelled at me in disbelief, "What's that supposed to mean? You spend one night with him, and suddenly I can't touch you?"

Jeffery's breathing was erratic, having long lost his usual composure. "He just beckons, and you run to him?"

"Naomi, you really are—"

"Disgusting," I said calmly. "Is that what you want to say?"

He paused, his face slowly darkening. "Isn't it true?"

"You're just like your mother; both of you make me sick."

I slowly shook my head, finally finding the courage to refute his accusations and misplaced anger. "It's different now. I don't owe you anything, Jeffery."

"Back then, I didn't know the truth, and I lacked the courage to stand against you."

All these years, Uncle Sam had been truly kind to me.

But Jeffery kept repeating that I owed him.

Those words planted a seed of guilt in my heart, which then took root and grew.

And then, on my