Chapter 9 - MY MUG
I did throw a mug.
That mattered.
January 14.
Ivan had taken $18,000 from Juniper Table’s business reserve.
Without asking.
Transferred to Parker Outdoor as “temporary intercompany support.”
There were no shared companies.
My bakery was mine.
He promised repayment within a week.
Six weeks later, nothing.
We argued.
He said:
“Your little bakery exists because I paid bills while you played chef.”
I threw the mug into the sink.
Not at him.
It shattered.
He photographed the pieces.
I did not know.
When I saw that photo in his folder, shame arrived before anger.
Dana said:
“Why?”
“Because it makes me look crazy.”
“Did you throw it at him?”
“No.”
“Could broken ceramic still hurt someone?”
“Yes.”
“Would you do it again?”
“No.”
“Then own it without allowing it to explain his behavior.”
Hard.
Useful.
Abuse stories are easier when one person is flawless.
Real people are not.
I yelled.
I said things I regret.
I stayed after I should have left.
I took money from our joint savings without telling Ivan once to cover my company payroll during COVID.
Then told him later.
May you like
Wrong.
None of that made my body his property.
