Chapter 5: Walking Away

The smiles on all four faces vanished in an instant.

It was like a cold wind swept through the room; their eyes hardened, lips pressed thin.

Mark snapped at me, "Are you done? Making a big deal out of nothing again? He’s your son—if you don’t give it to him, who will you give it to?"

He jabbed a finger in my direction, his voice rising, trying to reassert control.

My mother-in-law’s words were sharp, glaring at me through gritted teeth: "You must be running around with someone else—figures, coming from a nobody like you."

She spat the words out, old resentments boiling over. The room suddenly felt too small, airless.

Their words used to crush me. Now, they just sounded tired.

I’d heard this kind of talk countless times in my previous life. Every time, it made me cry with rage. But for the sake of giving my child a complete family, I endured it all.

I remembered the sleepless nights, the tears muffled into a pillow, the hope that one day things would get better for Caleb’s sake.

In the end, my endurance became a joke.

Since that’s the case, why endure anymore?

"Enough talk—are we getting divorced or not?"

Mark was just about to speak, but my son jumped up and pointed at me, shouting,

"Screw you, old woman! Divorce! Dad, divorce her! It’s just a stupid ticket—I don’t believe you can’t get it, grandma can’t get it!"

He was so angry his nostrils kept flaring, his eyes wild with rage.

He looked like a cornered animal, desperate to win. The years of entitlement were written all over his face.

Ever since he could talk, he’d said things like this more than once.

He said Dad was a sales manager, could make money.

Grandpa and grandma were retired teachers, educated.

Only I was a community college grad from the sticks—even if I dressed up, I never fit in, my head empty, no class.

Their words rang in my ears, echoes from PTA meetings and holiday dinners where I’d always felt out of place.

The four of them completely treated all my years of effort for him as nothing.

I always thought, when the kid grows up and sees a bigger world, it would be better.

Then, he would understand my value.

So, in my previous life, I used this ticket to send him to see a broader world.

In the end, what I got was him sending me to a rundown apartment in a half-basement to spend my remaining days.

How pathetic and sad.

Hearing these words again, I no longer argued with him.

I just nodded. "Of course, they’re so capable—they can definitely get it."

The faces of Mark and the others changed, wanting to speak but stopping.

I took a deep breath and said, "Marital property is split half and half. The kid is yours. That’s it."

I went into the room to pack my luggage, not wanting to stay another second.

My hands were surprisingly steady as I zipped up two battered suitcases, ignoring the shouts and banging from the living room.

My son was still arguing outside.

My in-laws treated him like a little prince, coaxing him by belittling me.

"Mom is mean, mom is bad, she’ll get what’s coming. Caleb, don’t be angry, it’s bad for you."

"Your mom can’t bear to leave you, she’s just saying it. You’re her only child—if she leaves you, how can she live? Small-town girl, old-fashioned, can’t live alone."

They kept their voices low, but I heard every word, each one a tiny stab.

My son was still shouting: "I just don’t want her to be my mom! Damn it, can’t she just die!"

My heart still couldn’t help but ache a little.

Even after everything, the words cut deep. Some wounds never close all the way.

When I finished packing two large suitcases, it was quiet outside.

Mark opened the door.

He lounged against the frame, smirking, the keys to the house jingling in his pocket.

Hands in pockets, looking down on me, mocking: "You’re putting on quite the act, huh? Fine, you want to act, let’s go—let’s get divorced right now."

I took out my driver’s license and marriage certificate. "Let’s go."

I stood tall, refusing to let him see my hands shake.

His smile froze.

"Divorce, huh? You leave with nothing, then I’ll do it—how about that?"

He tried to sound tough, but I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

I was so angry I laughed. "Oh, so you can’t bear to divorce me, deliberately provoking me to stay, huh?"

I tossed the words back at him, finally seeing through the old pattern.

"Go ahead—walk out. See how far you get without us."

"I can’t bear to leave you? What a joke. Where can you go after leaving us? Half, right? I’ll give it to you. Don’t back out."