Chapter 3
Edward stared at me for a long time, and I stared right back.
Then, a voice came from behind him.
"Edward, is this Evelyn?" Vivian walked over, hooked her arm through his, and smiled at me.
My last name is Harrington, but I didn't see the point in correcting her.
I just let it go.
"Come on in and have a seat," I said, stepping aside. "You must be tired from the trip."
The three young people followed behind. The youngest girl, Sylvia, walked past me, gave me a once-over, and turned to Vivian. "Mom, is this that woman?"
"Sylvia, don't say that," Vivian said, patting her hand.
But I caught that look in her eyes.
She looked at me like I was just some sad middle-aged woman whose husband had abandoned her for twenty-five years.
I closed the door.
The real drama starts now.
*****
I poured them some tea.
Just green tea. That's all I had in the house.
Vivian shot a glance at the dusty living room, wiped the chair off with a tissue before taking a seat. The three kids lingered by the door, unsure how to address me.
"Go ahead and sit down," I said.
The oldest kid took a seat first, and the other two followed.
Edward sat across from me, separated by the same old coffee table we had when we first got married, twenty-five years ago.
He was the first to speak. "Evelyn, you moved out?"
"Yeah, I moved out three years ago," I replied.
"Why?" he asked.
"The house was just too big for one person. It just felt too empty rattling around in here all by myself," I replied.
"What about Anna?" he asked.
"Anna got married three years ago," I replied.
He leaned forward. "Who did she marry?"
"Michael Sinclair," I replied.
He had no clue who Michael Sinclair was.
After all, he hadn't bothered about anything back home for twenty-five years.
"Are her in-laws treating her well?" he asked.
"Yeah, they're really good to her," I replied.
"And you, all by yourself" He glanced around the dusty living room, his voice a little rough. "Evelyn, you've had it rough. I came back this time."
"Before you go on, I have something for you," I cut him off.I cut him off.
I pulled the sandalwood box out of my bag, set it on the coffee table, and slid it over to him.
"Go ahead, open it," I said.
He shot me a look, then opened the box.
Right on top was a bright red divorce certificate.
His hand trembled.
"What is this?" he asked.
"I filed for divorce three years ago," I said. "Because you were gone for so long, the court posted a public notice. When you didn't respond, the divorce was granted."
He looked up sharply. "I never got any notice!"
"The notice was published back home in the papers. You were overseas, so you missed it. That's on you, not me," I said.
I kept my voice steady. I'd been ready for this for three years.
He pulled out the divorce agreement from under the certificate and unfolded it.
On the property division section, it says: "Each party keeps their own assets, and neither of us will make any claims on the other's property."
I'd already signed and sealed it with my fingerprint. His signature line was still blank.
"The court granted the divorce, but you still need to sign off on the property part," I said. "That's why I called you back."
"You." He stood up, his hands trembling. "Evelyn, what are you trying to say? I've been sending 33,000 dollars home every month, never missed a single payment!"
"Every cent is still there," I said.
I pulled an envelope out of my bag and set it on the table.