The room fell silent.
Every eye turned to Wilfred.
No one had expected this—not here, not now, not at his twin daughters' birthday party.
Hildegarde certainly hadn't.
In five years of marriage, Wilfred had always been meek, careful, obedient. He never dared step out of line. Yet here he was, demanding a divorce in front of everyone.
Where had he found the nerve?
Had he lost his mind?
"Wilfred, are you trying to pick a fight with me?"
"No. This isn't a fight. I mean every word."
He shook his head. "Hildegarde, there's only ever been one man in your heart, and it isn't me. Hilary has never seen me as her father either."
"For five years, you've taken her abroad every year. I know exactly what those trips are about."
"I'm in the way. So I'm stepping aside."
"Hilary, this is the last birthday I'll celebrate with you. Happy birthday."
With that, Wilfred took his younger daughter Penelope by the hand. His voice softened. "Penelope, come with Daddy."
"Okay." She nodded firmly.
"Wilfred!"
Hildegarde's composure shattered. She slammed her palm against the cake, sending it toppling. Her pale face flushed crimson. "You're making a scene in front of all these people! Are you trying to humiliate me?"
"I'll say this once more. Get back here. Take Penelope and go upstairs."
"This is your last chance!"
Wilfred didn't stop. Didn't turn around. Holding Penelope's hand, he walked toward the door, dozens of stares following him.
"Tomorrow. Two o'clock. Family Court."
Outside, a light rain had begun to fall.
Wilfred had brought an umbrella. He opened it, lifted Penelope into his arms, and carried her to the parking lot.
He settled her into the car seat in the back, then paused. She'd been so quiet, so well-behaved through all of it. His heart ached. He kissed her forehead.
"Penelope, Daddy's taking you away from Mommy and your sister. Do you blame me?"
"No." Her voice was small but unwavering. "Mommy wants to be with Uncle Patrick. She doesn't want us anymore. If she doesn't want us, we don't want her either."
"Alright. Daddy will take care of you from now on."
Something tightened in his chest.
He started the car and drove toward the Dickerson residence.
At the Pruitt house, the guests shifted uncomfortably.
"Hildegarde, don't be upset. Wilfred's clearly misunderstood something. Let me go explain—"
Patrick set Hilary down and made to stand, but Hildegarde caught his arm.
"Don't bother, Patrick."
"Trust me. He won't go through with it. Without me, he's nothing."
In Hildegarde's eyes, Wilfred had always been nothing more than a glorified housekeeper. For five years, all he'd done was cook, clean, and watch the children. He had no skills, no career, no standing.
She refused to believe a man who depended entirely on her would actually dare leave.
What would he eat? Where would he go?
She was convinced he couldn't survive a single day on his own.
"He'll come crawling back tonight."
She lifted Hilary into her arms and turned to face the guests with an apologetic bow. "I'm sorry, everyone. Forgive the spectacle."
"Oh, it's nothing, Ms. Pruitt. Couples argue. He'll be back before you know it."
"Honestly, a woman of your caliber, your looks—married to him? What a waste."
"If you ask me, you and Patrick are the real match."
"Patrick! How about a toast with Ms. Pruitt? A lovers' cup!"
"Yes, yes! A toast!"
Patrick raised his glass, gazing at Hildegarde with practiced tenderness. "Hildegarde, you've put up with so much these past five years. Let me drink to you."
"Thank you, Patrick. But I'm not feeling well. I'll pass."
She shook her head.
Her period had started, and she couldn't drink. Besides, she was still seething.
Wilfred had humiliated her in front of everyone. She wanted nothing more than to drag him back and force him to his knees, to make him apologize in front of every guest.
How dare he?
A man who lived off her charity. A man who couldn't survive a week without her support. How dare he demand a divorce—and act so righteous about it?
If anyone was going to file, it should have been her.
Her gaze drifted toward the door.
Wilfred, you'd better not come back. Because if you do, I'll make you regret it.
The party ended early.
Hildegarde declined Patrick's offer to stay and help. She bathed Hilary, then put her to bed.
The truth was, she wasn't used to caring for children.
For five years, Wilfred had handled nearly everything—both girls. She'd never even changed a diaper.
By the time Hilary finally fell asleep, Hildegarde was exhausted. She had just laid down when—
"Mommy, I'm itchy!"
Hilary wriggled against her like a restless kitten, scratching at her face and arms.
Hildegarde switched on the lamp. Her daughter's face was flushed red, and angry welts spread from her neck down to her chest.
An allergic reaction.
Just as Wilfred had said—both girls were allergic to chocolate. Severely. He'd always been meticulous about keeping anything with cocoa away from them.
But the cake Patrick brought tonight had been loaded with it.
Hildegarde pulled Hilary close.
"Wilfred! Hilary's having a reaction!"
Silence.
Then she remembered. Wilfred was gone. He'd taken Penelope and left.
She had no choice but to call the housekeeper.
"Ma'am, what happened to the little miss?"
The housekeeper's face went pale at the sight of Hilary's swollen skin.
"Allergic reaction," Hildegarde said.
"But how? Mr. Dickerson was always so careful about what they ate. He never let them near anything with cocoa."
"Enough! Do you know where he kept the allergy medication?"
Hildegarde's patience snapped.
"I... I don't know." The housekeeper shook her head helplessly. "Mr. Dickerson always took care of the girls himself. He kept the medicine. I have no idea where it is."
