Divorced During Our Son's Exam My Ex-Husband's Public Ruin

It was pouring the morning of my son's college entrance exam—rain coming down so hard the streets ran like rivers.

Jeffrey Delgado and I had agreed to take him to the exam site together.

But right as we were about to leave, Jeffrey took a phone call, said there was an emergency surgery at the hospital, and walked out without looking back.

So I drove my son there alone on the electric scooter, the two of us fighting through the downpour.

After I got him inside, I stood under an eave, soaked head to toe.

I took out my phone to let Jeffrey know we'd made it safely.

Instead, I saw a photo on my social feed, posted by his first love, Monica Fox.

In the photo, Jeffrey was wearing an expensive tailored suit.

He held a large black umbrella, most of it angled over Monica and her daughter.

His own shoulder was completely drenched on one side.

He was carefully escorting Monica's daughter into a different exam site.

The caption read： *Thank you for being the father she needed at the moment that mattered most.*

I stared at that photo for a long time.

Rain kept landing on the screen, blurring Jeffrey's gentle profile until I could barely make it out.

I tapped "like," turned off my phone.

Just last night I'd been thinking—once our son got into college, we could finally have time for ourselves again.

Now it looked like the moment his last exam ended, we could head straight to the county clerk's office.

……

Ten o'clock that night. Our son was already asleep.

Jeffrey pushed the door open and walked in.

He reached into his pocket and held something out to me.

“Here. Passed by a temple on the way and picked this up.”

“Clip it on his backpack for good luck.”

It was a herbal sachet, crudely made.

The red fabric was rough and pilling, the gold-thread characters stitched on crooked.

And the real giveaway: printed across the back in bold letters were the words “Crestview High School Exam Site Souvenir.”

My son's exam was at Central High School.

Crestview High School was the exam site for Monica Fox's daughter, Marjorie Fox.

So much for “passed by a temple on the way.”

I took the sachet, tossed it in a clean arc, and landed it right in the trash can beside me.

Jeffrey's face went cold.

“What the hell is your problem, Wendy Harding?”

“I got that to bless our son and you're losing it on me?”

He jabbed a finger toward the sachet in the trash.

“Pick it up.”

I stayed where I was on the floor, tilted my head up, and looked at him.

“Jeffrey, do you even look at what you buy?”

“Your son has been deathly allergic to mugwort since he was a baby. One touch and he breaks out head to toe.”

“And you want him to clip a sachet stuffed with mugwort onto his backpack?”

“Are you trying to send him into the exam tomorrow, or the emergency room?”

Jeffrey's expression locked up.

He'd clearly forgotten about the allergy a long time ago.

To cover the guilt, his voice jumped an octave.

“Oh, give me a break!”

“It's one sachet—how much mugwort could there even be?”

“You're the one with the problem, losing your mind at home all day.”

“I come home exhausted and I still have to deal with your face? Worst luck of my life.”

He kept going as he yanked off his tie and stalked toward the bedroom.

I didn't argue. I didn't fight back.

I turned, walked into the spare room, and locked the door behind me.

From the other side came the sound of Jeffrey kicking the door, followed by a string of ugly words.

I lay on the narrow bed and pulled the blanket over my head.

The last spark inside me went out for good.

The morning of the second exam day.

When I stepped out of the spare room, the smell of fried eggs was actually drifting from the kitchen.

Jeffrey had gotten up early for once in his life.

He stood there in an apron, setting three plates of surprisingly decent-looking breakfast on the table.