“Forget it, Tom. I don’t want it. If Calista likes it, then give it to her.”
They played out their little melodrama like the rest of the office didn’t exist. I didn’t care.
I angrily wrote a line in the ledger under joint marital property and deducted Tom’s share, $993 due. Then I tossed the necklace back with disgust.
“Who wants this? It’s filthy.”
Her face went pale, clearly shocked by my reaction. I looked her up and down like someone checking merchandise.
While I watched, I noted in the ledger: clothing, last summer’s collection, marked as joint marital spending. Shoes and perfume, new models from earlier this year, estimated at 4,110 dollars.
When I added it all up, the total shot past thirteen thousand $700. My coworkers gathered around, their faces brimming with smug pride.
“Now I really believe she’s his mistress. Who spends that much on a cousin?”
“Gross. He’s openly supporting his mistress. His own wife doesn’t even dress like that.”
Their whispers felt like sharp pins. She avoided everyone's eyes, fidgeting nervously.
“Enough!” Tom shouted, losing it. He lunged forward and tossed my receipts into the trash. His eyes widened with anger.
“You think you can keep doing this forever?”
His raised hand hit my face hard, then a fist followed. My right cheek flared with pain and fury boiled inside me.
He actually put his hands on me in front of all these people, just imagine what he did behind closed doors. No wonder she always had bruises. “Fuck you,” I snapped.
I planted my right foot and kicked him hard in the groin. He screamed and collapsed, curled up on the floor. Even then, he threatened me, “You dare fight back? Calista, you’re dead meat.” “Fuck you!”
I kicked him a few more times until my anger cooled. Tom grabbed the wall, trying to push himself up. His face flushed; he lunged at me again. “You bitch! I’ll kill you today or I’ll change my name!”
“Stop it!” a firm voice cut through the chaos. The department manager rushed in, eyes widening at the mess in the office.
He snapped, “Can’t deal with your personal issues? Bringing them to work?”
“Tom, pack your things and get out. Now.”
“No, Manager! That bitch Calista started it!”
Tom’s big act fell apart as he scrambled to defend himself. The manager didn’t even pay him any attention.
“You have ten minutes. If you’re not gone by then, I’ll call security.”
I laughed, loud and over the top. “Tom, you’re gross. You’re old enough to be buried, but you’re acting like a whining kid.”
I patted his shoulder, mocking the manager’s tone. “I’ll give you three days to transfer the money to my account. Otherwise, see you in court.”
Under his furious stare, I walked out with the bill. As soon as I reached the stairs, I called a moving company. “Address: Building 3, Fifth Floor, Marriott Residential Complex. Take everything. Leave no furniture behind.”
When my sister married him, he had nothing. Every piece of furniture in their home came from our parents.
Now that they were divorcing, I had every right to take it all. I spotted the key under the doormat.
The moment I opened the door, a wave of alcohol hit me, the place smelled like booze.
