Chapter 3
"Your mom knows me best," Dad said.
He headed toward the kitchen.
"Dad," I called out to him.
He stopped in his tracks.
"I saved a screenshot of that message," I said.
The air seemed to freeze.
Dad turned around, still smiling, but there was something different in his eyes.
"What message?" he asked.
"The one you sent to the family group chat," I replied.
"I told you, I sent it by accident," he said.
"Sent it by accident, huh?" I shot back.
I pulled up the screenshot on my phone.
"Once the divorce is done, we'll get married. Don't worry, the house and the car are all yours," I read it to him.
"Is this another 'accident'?" I pressed.
Dad's face darkened.
"You..." he began, his voice trembling.
"What? Go on," I shot back.
"Delete that screenshot," he ordered.
"Why?" I asked.
"You're just a kid. Stay out of grown-up stuff," he snapped.
"I'm 25, Dad. I'm not a kid anymore," I shot back.
"That's exactly why you should act your age!" he shouted.
His voice suddenly shot up.
"You don't air our dirty laundry, understand? If you send out that screenshot, how am I supposed to face anyone?" he snapped.
"Face anyone?" I shot back.
I stood up.
"You've kept a mistress for eight years, now you're divorcing Mom to marry her, and you still want to talk to me about saving face?" I snapped.
Dad's eyes went wide.
"Did your mom tell you?" he asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"How much did she tell you?" he pressed.
"More than enough," I shot back.
Dad's face kept changing color, going from pale to livid.
"All she ever does is try to drive a wedge between us!" he snapped.
"Drive a wedge between us?" I scoffed.
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Dad, are you kidding me right now?" I said.
"You've been cheating for eight years, spent 828 thousand dollars on your mistress, and now you're giving her the house and the car. And you think that's just 'driving a wedge'?" I shot back.
"I spent the money I earned myself!" Dad insisted.
"So you think just because you earned it, you can spend it however you please, and Mom's twenty years of devotion to this family isn't worth a single penny?" I shot back.
"When did I ever say she wasn't worth a penny?" Dad snapped back.
"So, after the divorce, what exactly are you planning to give Mom?" I pressed.
Dad froze. "I..."
"The house goes to your mistress, the car too. And the money? How much are you giving Mom?" I demanded.
He didn't say a word.
"You never even thought about it, did you?" I pressed.
I took a step closer.
"All you care about is handing everything over to her. You never once thought about what happens to Mom," I said.
"Is that all Mom is to you? Just some wife you can throw away whenever you want?" I shot back.
"Watch your mouth!" Dad snapped.
His voice turned harsh.
"I'm your father!" he shouted.
"Because you're my dad, it hurts even more." I raised my voice, too. "Do you even know what Mom's been through all these years?"
"She's had back pain for three years, but she couldn't bring herself to go to the hospital, just to save money. And you? When your mistress caught a cold, you took time off work just to be with her," I snapped.
"When I was in college, you told me the family was struggling and made me work part-time to pay my own way. But that same year, you bought your mistress a 100-thousand-dollar car," I said.
"Mom couldn't even bring herself to buy new clothes, and you called her sloppy. Meanwhile, your mistress is decked out in gold and silver, all with the money Mom scrimped and saved!" I snapped.
"That's enough!" Dad roared.
The kitchen door swung open.
Mom stood in the doorway, spatula still in her hand.
"What's all the shouting about?" she asked.
Dad looked at her, his expression conflicted.
"Did you really tell her?" he demanded.
"She asked, so I answered. Why shouldn't I tell her?" Mom shot back.
"You..." Dad began, but Mom interrupted him.
"What is it?" Her voice was steady. "If you did it, why are you so afraid of people talking about it?"
Dad was stunned into silence.
"Let's eat," Mom said. "The food's getting cold."
She turned and went back into the kitchen.
Dad stood there, his face was livid.
I looked at him, and he suddenly seemed like a total stranger to me.
I had called this man 'Dad' for 25 years.
He went to my parent-teacher meetings, taught me how to ride a bike, and when I was taking my college entrance exams, he told me to "do my best."
But all that time, he was secretly supporting another woman behind our backs.
Eight years was long enough for a kid to grow up from grade school to junior high.
Long enough for a woman to go from her twenties to her thirties.
And long enough for a marriage to fall apart, inside and out.
Dinner was painfully quiet.
Dad didn't say a word, just ate in silence, staring at his plate.
Mom stayed silent too, but from time to time, she gently put some food on my plate.
I couldn't eat, but I managed to choke down a few bites.
After dinner, Dad headed to his room and got on the phone.
The door was shut, but I could barely make out his voice from inside.
"No, baby... They found out... Yeah, today... I sent it by accident... Don't be mad, I'll handle it..."
I stood outside the door, my fists clenched tight.
He called that woman 'baby.'
And Mom? Did he ever call her anything? Did she even exist to him?