My Husband Chose His Ex-Wife Every Time, So I Chose Divorce

04

When I came out, Mom was sitting on the bench, wiping her eyes.

Dad sat beside her, trying to comfort her, but his own eyes were red too.

The moment Mom saw me, she pulled my hand into hers, her face full of pain.

"Charity, you've been suffering all this time. Why didn't you tell us?"

"If we hadn't come out to eat today, we'd never have known this is how they treat you at home!"

I swallowed the bitterness in my eyes and forced a smile.

"It's fine, Mom. I'm going to divorce him soon."

Mom stared at me for a long time, dazed.

"Charity, have you really thought this through?"

I gave them a solemn nod.

"When I go back in, I'll make it clear to them."

"As long as you've thought it through. We'll be waiting for you at home."

Only after I'd put them in a cab and sent them off did I turn and go back inside.

The table was already crowded with dish after dish.

There was the whole roasted fish I don't like.

There was the cold salad I'm allergic to.

The noise of me coming in did nothing to disturb the warmth between them.

Max was carefully picking the bones out of the fish for Ivy, then setting the piece into her bowl.

Ivy thanked him sweetly.

"Max, I can't believe you still remember I don't like fish bones."

Max didn't even lift his head. He spoke to me.

"Waitress, we don't need you here. If there's nothing else, you can go."

"Don't disturb our family meal. I'll call you if we need anything."

Marion, on the other hand, stiffened when she saw me.

She quickly shot Max a warning look, but he paid no attention.

Watching the ease and closeness between them, I cut in.

"Max, I'm the outsider here. I shouldn't have come to disturb you."

At the sound of my voice, his head snapped around.

Then he stood at once and pulled out a chair for me.

"It's not like that, honey. I thought you were the waitress."

"I didn't know you'd come back. I thought you'd gone straight home."

He knew perfectly well I'd left angry, and still he hadn't cared enough to come after me, to say one soft word.

He knew all of it, and played dumb anyway.

It took me seven years to see this man clearly. A little laughable, really.

Just then a waitress came in carrying an iron pot.

"Excuse me, coming through, this is very hot."

I was about to step aside when someone shoved me, and my arm slammed straight into the iron pot.

Then Ivy suddenly shrieked.

"Max, I think my hand got burned, it hurts so much!"

Max's attention was on her in an instant.

A few drops of soup had splashed from the pot onto her finger, leaving a small red, swollen patch.

And I was in too much pain to make a single sound.

I looked to Max for help, hoping he would take me to the hospital.

But without a moment's hesitation he swept Ivy up into his arms and rushed for the door.

As he passed me, a flicker of disgust crossed his eyes.

"Charity, what are you doing sitting on the floor playing the victim? You're not even hurt!"

"Get up on your own. Don't make a spectacle of yourself."

He looked right past the large red welt on my hand, his eyes only on Ivy and her tiny burn.

Marion came over and helped me up, accidentally brushing against my wound.

I couldn't help hissing.

She pushed up my sleeve and found that my arm was already swollen and red, blisters rising on the skin.

I pushed her away and got up, staggering, and went to the hospital on my own.

Second-degree burns. I nearly lost the use of the whole hand.

After it was bandaged, I went home and quietly waited for Max to come back.

It was the middle of the night before Max finally dragged himself home, exhaustion all over his face.

When he saw me, surprise flickered in his eyes.

"Charity, you're still up this late?"

I said nothing.

I only held out the divorce papers, already signed, in front of him.