Chapter 4

I'd sent Verda the divorce papers my lawyer prepared.

Not long after, she called me.

I took a deep breath before answering.

"Arnold! Are you out of your mind? Divorce papers? You really want to divorce me, huh?" Her voice was so sharp it made my ears ring. She sounded both furious and shocked.

"Do you think I'm kidding?" I said, keeping my tone flat.

"Listen, if we go through with this, there's no taking it back," she warned.

I shook my head and gave a bitter laugh. "Verda, I'm handing you a chance to be with Martin. You don't have to sneak around anymore."

"You're insane!" she yelled, then hung up.

I let out a long sigh at the sound of the dial tone.

I figured she'd sign the papers right away. She'd been cheating, so I thought she'd want out fast.

But days passed without a word from her.

It was like the divorce papers had vanished.

Something felt off, though I couldn't put my finger on it.

That weekend, I was about to head out when the house phone rang.

I picked it up—it was my mom. "Arnold, come home for dinner this weekend. Your dad's been missing you."

*****

I stepped into my childhood home, straightened my tie, and tried to look composed.

However, the moment I opened the door, I froze. My mom and Verda's mom were sitting on the couch, chatting and laughing like old friends.

When Tamara saw me, she stood right up. She smiled warmly, like nothing had happened.

"Arnold, you're here. Come in. Remember that coffee you liked last time? I made you some." She sounded warm, like I was still her favorite son-in-law.

She handed me a cup. The familiar aroma wrapped around me like an old memory.

I took it, still feeling thrown.

Tamara never treated me like a son, exactly, but she had always been kind to me.

Even though they had cooks and maids, she'd still personally cook for me when she could.

She remembered the things I liked and would always make them again the next time I visited.

For over ten years, she treated me and Verda the same—whatever Verda got, I got too.

So when she once suggested that Verda and I marry for business reasons, I agreed without hesitation.

"Thanks," I said quietly, taking a sip. The coffee tasted bitter.

I set the cup down and glanced toward the kitchen, where I heard noise.

Verda was in there, which was unusual. I caught sight of her moving around through the doorway.

When she noticed me, she walked over, arms out like she wanted to hug me. "Arnold, you're finally here. Come sit down. I made your favorite roast chicken."

I didn't move—just stared at her coldly.

Her smile faltered. She dropped her arms, looking embarrassed. "Arnold, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

Before I could answer, my mom called from the living room, like she wanted to interrupt, "Verda, bring out the food. Everyone's hungry."

Verda murmured an okay and went back to the kitchen, her movements stiff.

I stood there quietly, my eyes landing on her dress. It was a style I'd always hated, and now it just looked strange on her.

"Arnold, how have you been lately?" my mom asked, her voice laced with concern.

I looked at her and gave a faint smile, feeling a lump in my throat.

But instead of answering, I looked at her and said in a low, steady voice, "Mom, I need to tell you all something."

Verda stood frozen, like a guilty kid trying to act pitiful.

I knew what she meant, but I was past feeling sorry for her. All I felt now was exhaustion and disgust.

A moment later, Verda called everyone to eat, cutting through the tense silence in the room.

That was when it hit me—she'd set this up. Inviting my parents and Tamara was her way of staging an intervention, hoping to talk me out of the divorce.

This dinner was a trap.

The air was tight, like a rope pulled to the breaking point.

I took a deep breath and broke the suffocating silence.

"Dad, Mom, Tamara, there's something I need to tell you," I said, my tone firm. I looked each of them in the eye.

"What is it, Arnold?" my mom asked, worried.

"Verda and I are getting divorced," I said calmly. The words landed like a bomb.

"Divorced?" all three said at once, stunned.

Tamara was the first to recover. She frowned at Verda. "Did you upset Arnold again? Why are you always so careless?"

I looked at Tamara, feeling a mix of emotions.

She'd always treated me like family, and now, because of Verda's mistakes, she was stuck in this awkward spot.

I started to explain, but couldn't figure out where to begin.

Then Verda clutched her stomach and bent over, her face pale.

"What's wrong?" Tamara rushed to her side.

"Mom, I don't feel well," Verda said, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Are you pregnant?" Tamara asked, her eyes lighting up with hope.

"I... Maybe..." Verda murmured, looking shy but also eager.

Tamara's eyes filled with tears of joy. She hugged Verda tightly. "That's wonderful! You're amazing!"

I watched the performance, my stomach turning.

Verda glanced at me, her eyes pleading for me to keep quiet—begging me not to expose her lie.

Once, that look might have softened me. Now, it only made me sick.

I stared back coldly, saying nothing.

Suddenly, Verda gagged. She covered her mouth and ran to the bathroom.

"Verda, are you okay?" Tamara hurried after her, leaving the rest of us exchanging awkward glances.

A moment later, Verda's weak voice came from the bathroom. "I'm fine. Maybe it's just my stomach." Then she gagged again.

Tamara returned, smiling brightly. "Arnold, see? Verda's probably pregnant. You two should work things out—don't talk about divorce anymore."

I glanced at her, then at Verda, who was clutching her stomach like she was in pain. My gut twisted in disgust.

"Tamara, there's something I need to clear up," I said firmly, locking my eyes with her.