Chapter 1: Xe Điện Bị Chiếm Đoạt

Part 1

⚡️ **I just publicly endorsed my husband’s new political initiative—then he used it to strip me of my only transportation, leaving me stranded miles from home with a newborn.**

I had just publicly endorsed my husband, David Sterling’s, new political initiative at a community rally.

Three weeks later, he used that very initiative to strip me of my only transportation, forcing me to walk miles with my newborn and a fractured ankle.

His sole purpose was to appease my mother-in-law, Victoria Sterling, a major party supporter, and further their political ambitions.

The fluorescent lights of the community center glared down on David as he strode to the podium, beaming. My fractured ankle throbbed beneath the brace, a constant reminder of my clumsy fall three weeks prior. I sat in the front row, our infant, Lily, asleep in her carrier beside me, trying to project the image of a supportive political wife. The local press, eager for a soundbite from the rising star David presented himself to be, milled around, cameras flashing.

“My friends, colleagues,” David’s voice boomed, “we stand at the precipice of a new era of civic engagement.”

He gestured broadly, then turned his gaze directly to a sleek, charcoal-grey electric SUV parked prominently outside the glass doors. It was my car, the one David had given me for my birthday just months ago.

“In a gesture of profound commitment to our community, and with the full backing of the Sterling Community Outreach Foundation,” David announced, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, “this vehicle, previously allocated for personal use, will now be officially reassigned.”

A polite murmur rippled through the room. My breath caught in my throat.

He continued, his voice dripping with practiced sincerity.

“It will serve as a vital asset for our ‘Wheels for Wellness’ program, spearheaded by my dedicated mother, Victoria Sterling.”

Victoria, seated beside me, offered a tight, triumphant smile. My head swam. Maya Chen, a junior campaign aide, rushed over, her face alight with professional enthusiasm.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Mrs. Reed? A real statement!” she whispered, barely giving me time to register her words before scurrying off to direct a photographer.

I tried to stand, a sharp pain shooting up my leg. My belongings—Lily’s diaper bag, my small purse, a few essentials—were still in the trunk of *my* car. As the applause died down, a campaign staffer approached, handing me a small canvas tote.

“Mrs. Sterling requested we pack this for you, Evelyn,” he said, his gaze avoiding mine.

I stared at the tote, then at my car, which was now being draped with a banner reading “Sterling Foundation: Wheels for Wellness.” David was already shaking hands, oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to the icy dread coiling in my stomach. Lily stirred, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

With a heavy heart and a grinding ache in my ankle, I began the long, painful walk home, pushing Lily’s stroller over uneven sidewalks, the canvas tote digging into my shoulder. Each step was a battle. The sun beat down, and Lily began to fuss. Ahead, a journalist, packing up his camera, nudged his colleague.

“All about the optics, isn’t it?” he muttered, not bothering to lower his voice.

I watched my car, my only means of independence, drive away, its new banner waving mockingly in the breeze.

Part 2

The journalist’s words echoed in my ears, a cruel confirmation of what I already suspected. I pushed Lily’s stroller, my fractured ankle screaming with every step, the canvas tote bag cutting into my shoulder. My baby began to cry, a tired, hungry sound that tore at my heart.

The sun started to set by the time I finally limped through our front door. David was already inside, his suit jacket off, a drink in his hand. He looked up, a fleeting expression of annoyance crossing his face.

“Evelyn, what took you so long?” he asked, not bothering to hide his impatience.

My leg buckled slightly, and I steadied myself against the wall.

“My car was reassigned, David,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“My ankle is killing me, and Lily is exhausted.”

He set his drink down with a soft clink.

“Don’t be dramatic, Evelyn,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.

“It was a strategic move, good for the campaign.”

He walked closer, his eyes narrowed.

“You know, you looked quite disheveled walking back. The neighbors saw you.”

“That kind of appearance undermines everything we’re trying to achieve.”

My jaw tightened. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“My well-being, our baby’s comfort, is less important than your political image?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course not,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.

“But we have to make sacrifices for the greater good, for our future. You knew what you signed up for when you married me.”

He walked away, leaving me standing in the entryway, the pain in my ankle mirroring the ache in my chest. Lily whimpered again, her small face flushed. I took her to her nursery, changed her diaper, and fed her, her tiny hand clutching my finger. Every part of me felt hollowed out.

The next afternoon, desperate for some fresh air and a change of scenery, I took Lily to a small park a few blocks away. I sat on a bench, watching her sleep peacefully in her stroller, the gentle breeze a small comfort. The park was mostly empty, save for a few distant figures.

A man walked past, talking on his phone, his voice a low rumble. I recognized him instantly: Leo Vance, David’s campaign manager. He stopped a few benches away, his back mostly to me, continuing his muffled conversation. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but his words, carried on the breeze, began to filter through.

“No, no, I told him,” Leo muttered into the phone, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Those dubious financial projections simply won’t fly.”

He paused, listening, then rubbed his forehead.

“And I still don’t have a solid explanation for that business in Akron. He keeps glossing over it.”

The mention of Akron made me stiffen. David had always been so vague about his brief business venture there, just before we met. He’d dismissed it as a “minor hiccup” and quickly changed the subject whenever I’d asked. Now, Leo Vance was calling it “dubious” and demanding “a solid explanation.”

I watched Leo, his shoulders tense, as he continued to speak in hushed tones. A cold knot formed in my stomach. What exactly was “that business in Akron”? What other secrets was David hiding?