Chapter 4: Family Dinner Disaster

Derek didn’t message me again for a full twenty-four hours.

But after work, he showed up at my mom’s house right on time.

He was dressed in that same navy button-down and khakis, hair neatly combed, hands full of grocery bags. The kitchen smelled like BBQ ribs and lemon cleaner, the kind of Midwest comfort that made you feel both safe and suffocated. My mom always says, Derek is capable, does housework, a handy man inside and out—unlike my dad, who can lounge on the recliner after work and leave a dent in it.

My dad ordering me to do chores is just the lazy bossing the lazier; the two of us are both beneficiaries of modern marriage.

And Derek is always busy in the kitchen. My dad says a man like that can’t be very ambitious.

Dad likes to joke that real men know how to fix a leaky faucet, not a salad. My dad works in construction, has some money, a bit of success, so he must know what he’s talking about.

Anyway, my mom and Derek are like kindred spirits who appreciate each other.

They swap cleaning tips, talk about recipes, and sometimes I catch them giggling over some new brand of mop. At dinner, I couldn’t help but bring up Chris’s illness.

"Chris is really pitiful, tormented by illness. It’s heartbreaking to see."

As I spoke, I sneaked a look at Derek.

But he just picked up the plate of green beans in front of him and chewed slowly.

Definitely pretending. Who knows how upset he is inside?

Mom nudged me with her elbow, signaling me to stop.

Dad never cares about these little love stories; he just watched the football game on his phone.

I pursed my lips, teasing Derek: "That Lillian takes care of Chris so attentively."

"Derek, if I got sick, would you take care of me like that?"

"Rachel, don’t say such unlucky things," Mom scolded.

Ignoring her, I waited for Derek’s answer.

But he was as calm as ever. He put down his fork, looking strangely formal.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes expressionless.

"Rachel, I want a divorce. For real this time."

Time seemed to freeze.

My hand holding the fork stopped mid-air. Why is this man still harping on this?

But Dad was the first to scoff: "Cooked a meal and his heart’s gone wild. What, does he want to compete on Top Chef?"

"No, Dad."

Derek stood up immediately. "Rachel never loved me. I want to set her free. I think Chris would also agree to spend his last days with her. I can talk to Lillian about it."

"Set your mother free! You want my daughter to marry a dying man?"

Dad couldn’t help but throw his fork, while Mom struggled to hold him back from doing something rash.

"Do you know how much it costs to marry a wife? My girl impulsively got a marriage license with you, you didn’t spend a penny, and I even bought you a BMW at her request, and you’re still not satisfied?"

"You little—"

Dad’s words were cut off by Derek.

"So I will leave with nothing."

"Leave with nothing?"

Mom and Dad gasped in shock.

Dad quickly recovered and pointed at Derek, saying to me, "Girl, divorce him. With our family’s conditions, you can find anyone. There are plenty of men who can’t find a wife."

Meanwhile, Mom stamped her foot in frustration. "Bill, can’t you say less?"

The house was in chaos.

Dad cursing, Mom yelling, Derek used to the scene, and me—my mind blank.

So, he really wants a divorce.

Somewhere outside, a dog barked, and I felt like I was watching my own life from the wrong side of the window.

When I finally stepped outside, rain started to fall, cold and insistent on my skin. Maybe this is what it feels like when something finally breaks for good.