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Before I could keep the news of my layoff under wraps, it had already reached my in-laws. That night, they stormed in late, taking a cab straight to my place and barging into the living room without bothering to take off their shoes. Linda Hayes, who was my mother-in-law, plopped down on the couch, crossing her legs. "No job? Great, let's get the divorce over with." Richard Hayes, my father-in-law, smoking nearby, added slowly, "My son married you to live a normal life, not to take care of a freeloader." My husband, Michael Hayes, stood behind them, head down, silent, like a puppet on strings. I didn't cry or make a scene. I didn't say a word. I turned around, went into the room, and printed out the divorce settlement. Early the next morning, we were already at the court. We divorced. No fuss, like that. As soon as I stepped out of the court, my phone started buzzing nonstop. It was Richard calling, his voice urgent and a little too eager. "Anna, don't leave yet. Dad needs to ask you something. How much did you get for your severance pay?" Hearing him on the line, I laughed.