Practice Marriage in Poverty? Say Hi to Real Poverty

I wandered the city streets aimlessly, hauling the three heavy storage boxes around with me.

As the sky slowly darkened, the windows that began to light up with warm light felt like a mockery of the fact that I was now homeless.

I found myself a budget hotel and tried to use the few thousand dollars I had left in my bank account to get myself a room for the night.

"I'm sorry, sir, but your debit card has been frozen."

I tried another card.

"My apologies, but this one doesn't work either."

I tested every single card in my wallet, including my credit card. The result was the same every time. The word "frozen" made me feel chilled to the bone.

Naomi was being so cruel. Not only did she kick me out of the house, but she was even trying to hang me out to dry, cutting off all my options.

Just as I dragged the boxes out of the hotel, a black Mercedes-Benz pulled up at the entrance.

"We meet again, Mr. Lewis."

It was that lawyer, Edwin again. His expression looked as robotic as before.

"Do you want something?" I asked hoarsely.

"I have a small update for you." Edwin handed me a document. "Given your malicious act of stealing financial records related to Sullivan Group's Successor Trial project this afternoon—that is, the boxes of receipts and invoices you took—you have exposed the project to potential risks.

"Therefore, Ms. Sullivan has decided to revoke the five-million-dollar severance pay you were previously given."

My mind went blank. Malicious act of stealing financial records? She'd defined my decision to take the records of my hard-earned money as an act of theft.

"That's not all," Edwin said.

He seemed to be relishing my reaction. He took out another document, one that was extremely familiar to me.

I signed it five years ago. At the time, Naomi told me it was a prenuptial agreement that would protect my interests even after our supposed bankruptcy.

My breath caught.

Edwin flipped to one of the pages and pointed at a supplementary clause printed two font sizes smaller than the rest of the document. He read it out to me.

"Supplementary Clause 3.1 provides that the role of 'father' undertaken by Party B, Ian Lewis, as well as any fatherly duties performed by him, shall be considered part of the project. The child being raised, Shane Lewis, is the biological offspring of Party A, Naomi Sullivan, and the project's investor, Jared Lewis. Party B acts solely as a caretaker and shall not acquire any legal parental rights or claims over the child."

My world came crashing down around me. All along, I truly thought that Shane was my son, the one I'd worked so hard all these years to raise.

Well, it turned out that we weren't even biologically related. It'd been a lie as well. My body trembled so violently that I could barely stay on my feet.

Edwin wasn't done yet. He flipped to the last page to give me the most lethal blow.

"Supplementary Clause 7.4 stipulates that all contributions made by Party B during the five-year term, including, without limitation, housework, emotional support, and child-rearing activities, shall be deemed as part of Party B's labor under the project. Compensation for such contributions consists of a trust fund in the amount of five million dollars, to be established by Party A upon the conclusion of the project."

After a pause, he delivered the final verdict as if it were a death sentence.

"However, Party B has been given a rating of 'unsatisfactory performance' in the project. Pursuant to Clause 7.5 of the agreement, the beneficiary of the trust fund has been transferred to Mr. Jared Lewis at 3:00 pm today, in full compliance with the law."

Edwin closed the document and handed it to me, saying, "Therefore, Mr. Lewis, everything only happened because you failed the trial. You have nothing now—not even the boy you thought was your son, your relationship, and the money you were supposed to receive. You're nothing."

I stared at Edwin before looking down at the agreement—at my signature on the bottom.

My entire life in the last five years, from the relationship I was proud of to the family I'd given everything for, had all been part of a meticulously formulated social experiment. This all happened without my awareness, and at the end, I'd been deemed a failure.

These people had used this so-called legal agreement that I'd signed to make my life a living hell.

I couldn't hold myself up any longer. My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground.

The world seemed to turn silent around me. All I heard was the sound of my heart breaking. Despair crashed over me like a roaring tsunami, drowning me completely.

I had no clue how I managed to leave that hotel.

The only thing I remembered was Edwin and his colleague looking at me like I was trash. After they saw me crumpling to the ground, they got back inside the car and drove off.

Late at night, I roamed the streets like a zombie, still dragging the three boxes filled with records of my joke of a life. I had nowhere to go.

All of my credit and debit cards had been frozen due to the "failure" of the project. I had less than 100 dollars in cash on me. I couldn't get a hotel room, and I had no home to go back to.

There was no place for me in this massive world.

I was on the verge of losing my sanity. Just as I thought I might go mad or collapse on the street, a thought came to me.

Naomi liked pretending to be poor, didn't she? Well, why not let her end up poor for real?