Chapter 2
When Charlotte found the rehab room, I was holding onto the parallel bars, trying to walk.
My left foot dragged on the floor, the tip of my shoe scraping against the rubber mat, making a soft, scratchy sound.
The therapist was coaching me from the side. "Lift your foot. Step out. Take your time."
I gritted my teeth and swung my left leg forward.
Sweat slid from my forehead into my eyes, stinging them and making it hard to see.
The door was pushed open.
Charlotte stood in the doorway. Her perfume hit me before I saw her, drowning out the usual hospital smells of ointment and disinfectant.
She was dressed in a cream-colored suit, her hair pulled back, and she was carrying the bag I'd spent months saving up for to get her for her birthday last year.
She glanced at my leg, and her brows furrowed.
"Ethan, come out," she requested.
The therapist glanced at me.
I steadied myself on the bars. "If you want to talk, say it here."
Charlotte's expression froze for a moment.
"Are you seriously trying to embarrass me right now?" she growled.
I gave a small smile, my palms slick with sweat as I gripped the bars.
"Are you the one who's embarrassed?" I shot back.
Charlotte stepped inside and lowered her voice as she demanded, "You left that kind of comment on Andrew's Instagram. What did you mean by that?"
"Exactly what it said," I replied.
"Who are you trying to throw shade at? I bought that watch with my own bonus, not with family money," she said.
I looked at her.
"And wasn't the money for my surgery family money, too?" I asked.
Charlotte looked like she'd been rendered wordless, pausing for a second before her voice turned cold.
"Don't lump them together. That's a whole different thing," she retorted.
The therapist, sensing the tension, quietly slipped out, leaving only the beeping of the machines in the room.
I let go of the bars and slowly sat down on the chair next to me.
The edge of the brace was digging into my skin, so I pulled up my pant leg a bit and saw the angry purple bruises it had left on my calf.
Charlotte noticed, too.
Her gaze wavered for a second, then she quickly looked away.
She said, "Didn't the doctor say you'd recover? Who are you putting on this show for now?"
"The doctor said the window period for recovery was crucial," I replied.
"So why didn't you figure it out yourself earlier?" Charlotte shot back.
I looked up at her.
"Didn't I try? I sent you the bill, called you, begged you to front me 30,000 dollars. But you said I was asking for money, I was scheming, and that I was hounding you," I replied.
Charlotte pressed her lips together tightly.
"I was under a lot of pressure those days," she said.
"Was it that stressful going to the art show with Andrew, too?" I mocked.
Her face fell.
"He was at a low point. The gallery pulled his show, and he was falling apart. I was helping a friend," she said.
I nodded.
"Hence, his low point was worth 180,000 dollars, but my leg wasn't worth 30,000 dollars, was it?" I snorted.
Charlotte grabbed my arm.
"Ethan, do you have to be so harsh?" she snapped.
Her fingers landed right on the spot where the IV had left a bruise.
I pulled my arm away.
"If you didn't act so shamelessly, I wouldn't have to say such harsh things," I replied.
Two relatives of other patients were standing at the door, staring at us.
Charlotte couldn't handle those prying eyes.
She pulled out her phone and tapped a few times.
"Fine. I'll transfer you 30,000 dollars right now. Is that enough?" she said.
My phone buzzed with a bank notification, and 30,000 dollars had been transferred.
I glanced at it but rejected it.
Charlotte shoved her phone in my face.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Go ahead. Take it," she said.
"Does expired medicine work?" I shot back.
Charlotte was taken aback.
I stood up, but my left foot slipped, and I almost lost my balance.
She instinctively reached out to catch me.
I dodged her touch.
Her hands hung awkwardly in the air, her fingers curling slightly.
I braced myself against the wall and slowly made my way out.
She called after me, "Ethan, stop making a scene. I know I didn't handle things well this time, but you didn't have to put it all out there on Instagram."
I paused.
The wall was cold against my palm.
"Charlotte, I'm not making a scene," I said.
She gazed at me.
I took out my phone right in front of her, opened up WhatsApp, and unpinned our chat from the top.
Then I tapped on her avatar and hit delete.
The system popped up a confirmation window.
I was about to hit confirm but hesitated for a moment.
It wasn't because I couldn't let go.
I found it kind of funny.
From college to marriage, we'd been together for seven whole years. I kept her pinned at the top of my chat list, so she'd always know where to find me if she needed anything.
She, however, was scared that she'd have no choice but to answer if I ever needed her.
I hit confirm.
Charlotte's eyes slowly widened in shock.
"Are you deleting me?" she asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Are you seriously this childish?" she snapped.
I slipped my phone into my pocket.
"From now on, if you need anything, email me. When it comes to the divorce, my lawyer will reach out to you," I said.
The therapy room went completely silent after that.
Charlotte stared at me like she couldn't process what I'd said.
"What did you say?" she asked.
I looked her straight in the eye.
"Divorce," I repeated.
She let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Ethan, are you ending things over 30,000 dollars?" she said.
I let out a short laugh, too.
"That's right. All because of 30,000 dollars," I answered.
That 30,000 dollars was enough to buy out the last shred of self-delusion I had left.