Unconventional

Property

Emilio made her do weird things.

The shift in his behavior had become stark over the last few weeks. He seemed to take a twisted pleasure in humiliating her, pushing her limits beyond anything reasonable. Gone were the days of simple chores; now he had her scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees with a small brush, or pulling weeds from the garden with tweezers—a pointless exercise designed purely to degrade her.

Jennifer could feel it—the gleam in his eyes when he watched her, the way his voice would take on an almost amused tone when he handed her some absurd task. It was as if every day, he needed to assert his control, to remind her that she belonged to him and there was no escape.

As her belly began to swell with the baby, the cruelty didn't subside. If anything, it intensified. Emilio found new ways to embarrass her in public, ensuring that even outside their home, she felt the weight of his control. Whenever neighbors stopped by while she was working in the yard, he would make a point to tell them, in his usual offhand manner, that he had "finally gotten her."

It was always with a smirk, as if the pregnancy was a trophy, his proof of ownership. And every time he said it, Jennifer would lower her gaze, her face flushing with a combination of shame and helplessness. Because as much as he framed it as a joke, there was no humor behind his words. He had gotten her, in every way that mattered.

And no one else saw it. To them, it was just banter—light teasing between a man and his wife. They didn't see the way his hand would tighten on her arm later, or the icy glare he'd give her when they were alone. They didn't hear the biting words he whispered when no one was around, reminding her that she was nothing without him, that she had nowhere else to go.

———-

One evening, after a long day of pointless chores, Jennifer found herself in the kitchen, her back aching and her swollen belly making every movement feel labored. Emilio had been out, and she braced herself for his return.

She heard the front door open and the sound of his heavy footsteps. He didn't greet her, didn't say a word as he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and leaned against the counter. The silence between them stretched on, thick with tension.

Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, Jennifer spoke, her voice soft but steady. "Emilio, I can't keep doing this. I'm tired. I'm pregnant, and you have me doing these ridiculous things—"

He cut her off, his voice low and mocking. "Ridiculous? Oh, you're tired? Poor you." He took a long sip of his beer, eyes cold as they settled on her. "What exactly do you think you're too good for, Jennifer? You should be grateful I even let you stay in this house."

Her hands tightened around the dish towel she was holding, her frustration boiling over. "Grateful? Grateful for what? For you treating me like I'm less than human? For humiliating me every chance you get? I've done everything you've asked, and it's never enough for you!"

Emilio slammed the beer bottle down on the counter, his face hardening. "You want to talk about enough? You think what you're doing is hard? You've got it easy here, Jennifer. Real easy. Don't forget where you came from. You'd be on the streets if it weren't for me."

Jennifer flinched but stood her ground. "I'd rather be on the streets than live like this! I'm carrying your child, and you still treat me like dirt. I'm not your slave, Emilio."

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer to her, his voice low and dangerous. "You are whatever I say you are. And if you keep running that mouth of yours, you'll find out just how much worse things can get."

Jennifer's heart raced, but her anger overpowered her fear. "What more can you take from me, Emilio? You've already taken everything! My freedom, my dignity—you've made sure there's nothing left of me!"