I bit down so hard my face went red, not daring to laugh.
Only Dad was actually taking it in.
The hand holding his spoon went still.
His expression changed.
"You stayed... the whole time? Why did you never tell me?"
Mom shook her head.
"We were husband and wife. It's what you do. Nothing worth mentioning."
"You matter more to me than anything. More than dance."
She looked at him with longing as she spoke, her nose reddening, and with one blink the tears fell.
The timing couldn’t be more perfect!
He was leaving her, and she still loved him this much, still put him first.
Just like all those years ago, when she chose to get pregnant, to have me, to leave the company, all for the family.
In his early start-up years, the company nearly went under three times. Too proud to ask my grandfather again, it was Mom who emptied her savings and sold every piece of jewelry she had to fill the holes.
She never disturbed my father even when she fell unconscious from illness, all so he could focus on his career.
Dad genuinely believed he'd been a good husband, a good father, that he'd let us coast through twenty easy, comfortable years.
Men had selective memory for anything that didn't benefit them.
But his greatest weakness was that arrogance, the certainty that he could take care of everyone.
Sure enough, he set down the spoon, stood, walked to the living room, and picked up the agreement.
Then he tore it apart.
"The West End villa is yours, and you can take whichever car you want. I'll give you a hundred million, and then another hundred million on top of that. Leah still has school, so I'll give her two million a year until she graduates."
Mom shook her head desperately.
"No. I can't accept that."
Dad only grew firmer.
"No. You have to take it. I'll arrange it tomorrow."
The comments drifted by again.
[The more she refuses, the more he wants to give! Men are honestly pathetic!]
[Is he really the richest man in the city? How's a woman who hasn't worked in twenty years playing him this easily!]
[Don't tell me he's a lovesick fool too?]
Dad was about to keep going when his phone rang.
Vivian.
A comment: [Here she comes, here she comes, strutting right in.]
[Is every mistress on earth named Vivian?]
[Welp. My own name's Vivian. Crying.]
I silently swiped through the comments, knowing trouble was coming.
But it didn't matter. The call came at the perfect time. We'd already gotten what we came for today.
Dad picked up, soothing the other end in a low voice. "What? You're not feeling well? I'll be right over..."
He hung up, turned, his tone urgent but laced with guilt. "I... have something to handle. Work."
Mom's face went stiff. Then she gave a small nod.
The door slammed.
He knew Mom had put so much into this dinner, and he still walked out the second that woman called.
Mom didn't say anything. She turned her back to me and looked out the window.
Twenty years of marriage. She was probably still a little sad.
I crouched and gently took her hand.
She stroked my hair.
I blinked up at her.
"Mom, that piece of land? It's worth two hundred million now."
Her eyes lit up.
The sadness vanished in a flash.
Sure enough, money really was the best medicine in the world!
