I Was My Boyfriend’s Servant: How I Escaped Financial Abuse

I’d slip on a tight dress, nylons and heels and walk the seven blocks to his apartment. I washed his dishes; cleaned every inch of his counters; scrubbed the inside of his fridge, removing a moldy mess in one of the drawers. I cleaned everything I could find in his tiny bathroom. I did his laundry once a week at the laundromat across the street. I scratched a record of all my hours on a little yellow notepad with a broken pencil.  

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