4
She sputtered, momentarily speechless. Then
she grabbed her phone and dialed. “Dad! Can
you send me some money? I want to go out
to eat!”
“That old woman is insane! She didn’t make
dinner, ordered all this fancy food for herself,
and said she’s not going to take care of me
anymore.”
“Really? You’re on your way? Great! I’ll be waiting!”
She hung up, grinning triumphantly. “Dad’s
landing soon! He’s bringing me takeout!”
<
“See how generous he is? Look at you! I
don’t know why he married you in the first
place.”
“Old and washed up, working some dead–end
job, dressed in rags… you’re worse than a
cleaning lady…”
I smiled bitterly. My job used to be
demanding, with long hours and good pay.
After Claire was born, I’d switched to a
lower–paying position with shorter hours so I
could be home to make her dinner. For over a
decade, from kindergarten until now. And all
my sacrifices, in her eyes, were worthless.
I shook my head, focusing on my food. It had
<
been so long since I’d enjoyed a meal alone.
It felt strangely liberating.
By the time I’d finished, Claire was practically
gnawing on the table. John finally arrived,
suitcase in tow. Claire launched herself at
him.
“Daddy, you’re back!”
“That old woman is crazy! She wouldn’t feed
me! I’m starving!”
John shot me a disgusted look, patting Claire’s head. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll
ignore her. Come on, let’s eat.”
<
“I picked this up for you on the way home.
Your favorite pork and preserved egg
wontons. Eat them while they’re hot.
He placed a $10 container of wontons on the
table.
“Wow, thanks, Daddy!” Claire squealed.
“You’re
the best!”
I almost laughed. “Picked up on the way
home,” he’d said. More like bought at the
corner store down the street. John was
notoriously stingy, rarely spending a dime on
Claire or me. His mistress, however, enjoyed
a steady stream of designer clothes,
handbags, cosmetics, and a brand new luxury
<
car.
Whenever he did spend a little on Claire, he’d
milk it for all it was worth, exaggerating his
generosity. And Claire, bless her heart, fell for it every time.
Like her sixteenth birthday. He’d gifted her an
$8 in–game skin. He’d claimed he knew how
much she loved the game, and that he’d
spent hours choosing the perfect skin. Claire
had been ecstatic, showering him with praise.
My $10,000 piano, meanwhile, had been
completely ignored, overshadowed by
complaints about forced practice.
L
While Claire slurped her wontons, I called
John over to the coffee table. He frowned.
“What is it? I need to unpack. I have work to
do.”
He couldn’t even bear to speak to me
anymore, constantly worried I’d ask for
money for Claire’s piano lessons.
I sighed, handing him the divorce papers.
John, let’s get divorced.”
