Chapter 3

The divorce went through in no time.

Claire kept her expression icy the whole time, not saying a word more than necessary.

Sign, stamp, and done.

At the entrance of the city hall, she stood above me on the steps, looking down with that same superior air.

"Richard, you'll come crawling back to me," she said.

I tucked the divorce certificate into my pocket and gave her a small smile.

That smile made her frown.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Nothing. Take care," I said.

I turned and walked away.

Her voice rang out behind me. "Who'd want a man who walks away with nothing?"

I didn't look back.

Back at the hotel, my phone was blowing up with over a dozen unread messages.

All from Harry.

[Dad, what's going on with you and Mom?]

[Dad?]

[Why aren't you answering?]

[Mom said you two got divorced. Is that true?]

[Dad, text me back.]

The last one read: [Don't you want me anymore?]

I stared at that last message, my finger frozen above the screen.

Memories from my previous life came flooding back.

Harry was sixteen, smack in the middle of his rebellious years.

Back then, he was already calling Michael "Uncle Michael."

It was that familiar, casual "Uncle Michael", the kind that just rolled off his tongue.

Not the polite "Hello, Uncle Michael" one would say to someone they barely knew.

More like, "Hey Uncle Michael, when are we going to play ball?", like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Honestly, I didn't pay it any mind back then.

Boys were like that. It was normal for them to get attached to whoever was around.

But eighteen years later, at that engagement party...

"I'd like to toast Uncle Michael," Harry said, raising his glass and walking right up to Michael, his voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"Thank you for always being there for my mom all these years. Honestly, you've been more of a husband to her than my dad ever was."

All eyes in the room, over two hundred people, swung to me in an instant.

Some people looked at me with pity, some with embarrassment, and others with barely hidden delight at my humiliation.

My temples pulsed painfully.

Then Harry turned and looked right at me.

He said, "Dad, just let them have each other. Uncle Michael's waited for Mom for eighteen years. He's had it rough."

It had been tough.

Eighteen long years.

He was talking about how tough it was for Michael to wait eighteen years.

But what about me?

Wasn't it hard for me too, surviving eighteen years of this?

My hand started shaking as I gripped my glass.

I didn't even remember how I got home that night.

All I remember was waking up the next morning, my pillow soaked with tears.

Then I just kept grinding at work, hustling for cash, footing the bill for his wedding and his new place.

A month later, I had a brain hemorrhage and died.

My last thought before I died was a question: what was the point of my whole life?

Now I finally got it.

For what? For jack shit.

I closed Harry's chat and typed out a message.

[Your mom has custody. I'll transfer your living expenses every month. Study hard, you're on your own now.]

I hit send.

Harry replied instantly: [Dad!! What do you mean by that? Did you find another woman or something?]

I looked at his message and almost laughed out loud at how absurd it was.

Your mom was the one who cheated, not me.

Eighteen years, and I didn't even have a single fling.

Funny how, in your eyes, your mom was always the victim, and I was always the one who never measured up.

I didn't reply.

I turned off my phone, hit the shower, and crashed into bed.

Didn't dream about anything.

For once, I slept straight through, no dreams, nothing.