He was still in yesterday's dress shirt, the fabric creased all over.
Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. He clearly hadn't come home last night.
He spotted the breakfast bags in my hands and frowned.
“Where were you last night?”
He stepped closer, caught the faint smell of alcohol on me.
“You were drinking?”
His voice shot up instantly.
“Wendy, our son has his last exam today, and you went out drinking?”
“Do you even care about his future?”
“What if you'd been too hungover to get up and he missed the exam?”
I looked at that shameless, finger-pointing face of his.
“I had a few beers. And I was up at six buying breakfast.”
“Still better than someone who stayed out all night and couldn't even face his own son this morning.”
That landed. His mouth opened, closed. Color flooded his face.
“Last night I was……the hospital had an emergency. I couldn't leave.”
I didn't bother responding. I walked right past him into the elevator.
He hurried to catch up.
The moment we opened the front door, Jeffrey froze.
His hand stopped midway through changing shoes, eyes locked on the living room wall.
The oversized family portrait that used to hang there was gone.
He whipped around toward the balcony. All the plants I usually kept out there were gone too.
He strode into the bedroom and yanked open the closet.
Nearly empty. Just a few pieces of in-season clothing left to rotate through.
“Where did everything go?” He turned around, something close to panic flickering in his eyes.
I poked a straw into a carton of soy milk and handed it to our son, who had just gotten out of bed.
“Out with the old, in with the new.”
“Once the exam's over, we're starting fresh somewhere else. No point keeping useless stuff around.”
I waved it off like nothing.
His shoulders dropped. He pitched his voice louder, overcompensating.
“Right, once our boy's done, we'll move somewhere bigger.”
“And hey, he's gonna be wiped out after all this.”
“I'll take some vacation days—take all of you overseas. The whole family. How's that sound?”
He strolled over to the table and bit into a fried dough stick.
“Switzerland. The one you've always wanted.”
I let him finish the act. Then I reached into my bag and pulled out a document I'd had ready for days.
“We can talk about the trip later.”
“Sign this first.”
I slid the papers in front of him and set a pen down beside them.
Jeffrey glanced at the thick, bound document.
“What is this?”
“A joint international study program our son's interested in.”
“The school requires parental consent forms and proof of assets.”
I lied without a flicker of expression.
Jeffrey started to flip it open and read.
I cut in immediately.
“Deadline's today. Has to be submitted right after the last exam this afternoon.”
“If you don't have time to go through it, forget it. I'll just tell him to drop the whole thing.”
The moment he heard that, Jeffrey pulled his hand back from the page.
Anything to perform fatherly devotion in front of his son.
He grabbed the pen, flipped straight to the last page.
And signed “Jeffrey Delgado” in a bold, sweeping hand.
“My son's future comes first. Of course I'm going to support it.”
He pushed the document back across the table with a satisfied look.
I picked it up and checked his signature carefully.
Once I was sure everything was in order, I slipped the papers back into my bag with care.
“Thanks for the support.” I smiled at him.
Five o'clock that afternoon, the bell for the final exam rang out.
I was waiting at the back gate of the exam hall when my son came through with the crowd.
He had a relaxed smile on his face.
“How'd it go?” I stepped forward and took his backpack.
“Solid. No issues.” He gave a confident little raise of his brows.
“Good. Then let's go.”
We flagged down a taxi and headed straight for the train station.
Eight o'clock that evening.
Jeffrey Delgado pushed open the front door, carrying an expensive cake.
“Honey, Ethan, I got your favorites……”
His voice echoed through the empty living room.
No response.
He set the cake down, confused, and walked into the bedroom.
The bed was stripped bare. Every personal belonging was gone.
It finally hit him that something was wrong.
He rushed back to the living room and saw a document sitting on the dining table.
The very one he'd signed that morning in his own hand.
His hands trembled as he flipped to the first page.
Across the top, in heavy bold print：DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
Jeffrey Delgado panicked completely.
