Chapter 6: The Last Gift

At the county clerk’s office, I finally understood why Mark dared to say that. The county clerk’s office smelled like burnt coffee and old printer ink, the kind of place where dreams went to die. I waited in line, watching the sunlight flicker through the blinds.

He had transferred ninety percent of the marital assets during the marriage. Even the house was under his parents’ names. Dividing half, I could only get less than five thousand dollars.

I stared at the paperwork, the numbers swimming in front of my eyes. Years of sacrifice, boiled down to a few lines on a legal form.

He signed his name decisively. He slammed the pen down, daring me to back out.

I sighed, really not wanting to waste time with them anymore.

The clerk barely looked up, just stamped the papers and slid them across the counter. I felt lighter, somehow, as if a storm had finally passed.

So I picked up the pen and quickly signed my own name.

Mark’s expression changed. He snorted, "Doing something you think is cool on impulse—you’ll be the one to suffer later. Let’s see how you win your son back."

He tried to sound smug, but I saw the uncertainty in his eyes. For the first time, I realized he needed me to need him.

"Anyway, if you don’t beg me, I won’t withdraw the application. Just wait to be officially kicked out of my house in thirty days."

After speaking, he glanced sideways at my knees, waiting for me to kneel and admit fault.

There was a kind of sick anticipation in his stare, as if he expected me to crumble, just like all those other times.

After all, this kind of thing had happened many times. Every time, he forced me to file for divorce, then used the kid to threaten me, forcing me to beg him to withdraw the application.

Before, for the kid’s sake, I could never be ruthless enough to leave.

This time, I stood up, kicked his knee, and walked out. I pushed past him, chin up, ignoring the gasp from the clerk. I felt a surge of relief—like the first spring breeze after a long winter.

He chased after me, cursing, "Evil woman!"

I ignored him. His words bounced off me like hailstones on a tin roof. I kept walking, letting the courthouse doors swing shut behind me.

All the way home, listening to his curses.

As soon as I opened the door, I felt something was off. There was a hush, broken by whispers and the shuffle of feet. The air smelled of cheap takeout and old resentments.

My in-laws gently nudged my son, whispering something to him.

The next second, my son came over, face full of resentment.

"Hey, give me the ticket, and I’ll let bygones be bygones, and reluctantly let you keep being my mom."

He stuck out his hand, waiting. For a second, I almost caved—old habits die hard.

I smiled and shook my head. "No need for you to force it—I just won’t be your mom."

The words came out softer than I expected, but there was no regret in them.

He was about to get angry.

My mother-in-law quickly held him down and took out his glasses to show me.

"Maggie, don’t make trouble. Look how thick his glasses are—you know better than anyone how hard he worked for today."

She shoved the glasses at me like they were proof of hardship. I could see the faint scratch on the lens, a detail only a mother would notice.

"If he misses this chance to study abroad, he’ll have to stay here and take the regular SATs like everyone else, and live an ordinary, hopeless life."

She said it like a curse, as if ordinary was something to be ashamed of.

I raised my eyebrows. "How could that be? You and his dad are so capable—surely you have a way to get the ticket, don’t you?"

They frowned.

Mark yelled at me, "If you can do it, of course we can, but we’re busy—no time. Besides, since you got it, if we don’t use it, you’ll say we deliberately hurt your feelings."

Four pairs of eyes, all staring at the ticket in my hand.

I looked at my son’s stubborn, proud eyes, and those glasses that were indeed much thicker than last year. I remembered the late nights we spent studying together, the tears he shed over college essays. My heart, in the end, still softened.

Forget it, this will be the last time.

I took out the ticket and handed it to him. "From now on, you and I are even."

My voice trembled slightly, but I stood tall. For once, it felt like I was closing a chapter.

He took it without hesitation, snorted, "Stop pretending. Go whip up some of that blueberry ice cream I like. Or else, I’ll tell Dad to dump you for real."

He flashed me a lopsided grin, the same one he used as a kid when he wanted dessert. My son was spoiled—he liked to eat the ice cream I made by hand.

I didn’t respond, went back to my room, grabbed my two suitcases, and left. The suitcases thudded on the hardwood floor, echoing in the hallway. I looked back only once—no one even glanced up from the living room.

No one stopped me.

My mother-in-law’s whispering voice drifted over.

"She’ll definitely come crying back within a day. Don’t forgive her so easily this time."

My son chimed in, "Dad, get a bag of frozen peas ready for her to kneel on, and make her slap herself with a cutting board."

The whole family burst out laughing.

Their laughter faded behind me as I closed the door. Outside, the streetlights flickered on, and for the first time in years, I walked into the dusk with nothing but my own future ahead of me. I didn’t know where I was going, but for once, the road was mine to choose.