Chapter 4
As far as I could remember, Dad never once called Mom by her actual name.
It was always "Hey," "You," or "kid's mom."
One time, I asked Mom, "Why doesn't Dad ever call you by your name?"
Mom just smiled and said, "We've been married so long. Calling each other by name would be way too mushy."
But thinking back now, it was never about being mushy. It was about not being good enough.
In Dad's eyes, Mom wasn't even worth a name.
Only that woman got to be called "baby."
I walked back into the living room. Mom was on the couch with the TV on.
But something felt off. Her eyes were pointed at the screen, but she looked lost. She wasn't really watching anything.
"Mom," I said softly.
"Hmm?" she replied.
"Have you... really made up your mind?" I asked.
"Made up my mind about what?" she asked, still not really paying attention.
"About the divorce," I said.
She smiled a little.
"What's there to think about? He's already planning to marry someone else," she said.
"What about your future?" I asked.
"My future?" she echoed.
She paused, thinking for a moment.
"I'll find a job and take care of myself. Back then, I stayed for you. I was too scared to make a move. But now that you're grown up, there's nothing left for me to be afraid of," she said.
"But..." I hesitated.
"But what?" she asked.
"Don't you feel... hurt? Or angry?" I asked.
Mom looked at me, her eyes full of complicated emotions.
"Of course I do. How could I not?" she said.
"Then how can you be so calm?" I asked.
"Because I've already cried," she said softly.
Her voice was gentle, barely above a whisper.
"Eight years ago, when I first found out, I cried for a whole week," she said. "Your dad was away on a business trip, and I went through his phone. That's when I saw the chat logs."
"I thought about getting a divorce, causing a scene, even confronting that woman," she said.
"But I didn't," she said softly.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because of you." She looked at me.
"You were only 17 then, a junior in high school. It was your rebellious phase, and the pressure from school was already overwhelming," she said.
"If I had gone through with a messy divorce, how would you have handled it?" she asked.
"So you just endured it?" I asked.
"What else was I supposed to do?" she replied.
She gave a bitter smile.
"I didn't have a job, no income, and my family was no help. If I got divorced, I'd have nothing," she said.
"I just had to tough it out," she said. "I held on until you grew up, until you could stand on your own. And now... you're strong enough to stand on your own."
Her eyes started to well up.
"Mom..." I said softly.
"Breanna, I'm not the kind of person who shies away from problems," she said.
She held my hand.
"I just... didn't want this to mess up your life," she said. "Now that you know, maybe it's for the best. Some things have been bottled up inside me for far too long."
I hugged her.
She was trembling, and she finally broke down and cried.
All those tears she'd been holding back for eight years finally came pouring out.
"Mom, you've still got me," I said softly.
"I know," she replied.
"No matter what, I'm always with you," I said.
"Okay," she said.
"If Dad doesn't want you, I do," I said.
She started sobbing even harder.
I started crying too.
Right then, I hated my dad.
I hated how selfish he was, how heartless, and how he acted like everything was just the way it should be.
He always thought he was the head of the family, that the money he earned belonged only to him, and he could spend it however he wanted.
He never knew how much Mom scrimped and saved, how much she endured, or how many grievances she swallowed over the years.
He had no clue how many times I wanted to call home for help when I was working part-time while studying, but didn't dare ask because Dad always said, "The family's struggling."
So what was the result?
The money was always there, just never meant for us.
In the days that followed, Dad got nastier by the day.
He stopped talking to us, left early, came home late, and sometimes didn't even bother showing up at all.
I knew where he was headed.
No doubt he was off with that woman.
The family group chat was lighting up.
Grandma and Grandpa called, telling Mom to "be the bigger person."
Uncle called, telling Mom to "stop making a fuss."
Aunt called, telling Mom to "think about Breanna."
Everyone was urging Mom to let it go.
Not a single person called Dad out.
"Men fool around outside, that's just how guys are," they'd say. "Don't blow things up. It's bad for Breanna."
"If you agree to the divorce, we can still be family. But if you don't..." they'd let the threat hang in the air.
"What are you gonna do if she doesn't agree?" I snatched the phone from Mom.
Aunt's voice came through the line.
"Breanna? You're just a kid..." she blurted out.
"Aunt, I'm 25. I'm not a kid anymore," I shot back.
"Then you should know better. This is grown-up business. Kids shouldn't butt in," she said.
"Grown-up business? My dad kept a mistress for eight years and now wants a divorce to marry her. That's what you call grown-up business?" I shot back.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" she snapped.
"Yeah, that's how I talk," I said. "Aunt, do you even know how much money my dad has spent on that woman over the years? Over 800 thousand dollars.
"A 100-thousand-dollar car, a 200-thousand-dollar down payment on a house, eight years of mortgage payments, and 2,500 dollars in living expenses every single month."