No small talk. I got straight to it.
"Max faking his illness. How much did you know?"
The rag slipped out of William's hand and hit the floor.
He bent to pick it up, eyes dodging mine.
"…Who told you?"
I didn't answer. Just looked at him.
He wouldn't say more, but his mouth moved faster than his brain, and a half-formed sentence tumbled out.
"Max, he didn't come up with the idea himself. That woman, Katherine…"
His phone rang before he could finish.
Max's name lit up the screen.
William answered, and something shifted in his face. He glanced at me, then hung up in a hurry.
"Go home, Gabriella. Stay out of this one."
Not his own idea.
If someone else put him up to it, why didn't he just tell me?
Did I not even deserve that much honesty?
Day six. One day left before the deadline.
Max texted: Tonight, 7. The usual place. Bring your answer.
The usual place was a small neighborhood restaurant we used to go to.
He was already seated when I arrived.
Two dishes sat on the table. One of them was hot-and-sour fish soup, my old favorite.
I didn't sit. I stood at the edge of the table, staring at the bowl. Steam still curled off the surface.
"You remembered I liked this."
"Sit down. Eat first, talk later."
His voice was flat, unreadable.
It was always this game. A knife in one hand, sugar in the other, until I couldn't tell whether he had a heart or a hole where one should be.
I sat down.
I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite of the fish. The second that sour, spicy heat hit the back of my tongue, my stomach seized.
Days of instant noodles and bread rolls had left it too wrecked to handle anything real.
I set the chopsticks down. My voice was quiet but steady.
"I'm not signing."
Max's chopsticks froze midair.
"No divorce. And she doesn't get to set foot in our home."
"You faked an illness and lied to me for three months. You drained every cent I had."
"What you owe me can't be settled with a piece of paper and five hundred thousand dollars."
His expression darkened, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.
"You think dragging this out helps you? Word's already out about you singing at that club. Your students' parents could find out any day. Have you thought about what happens then?"
That one landed right where it would hurt the most.
Those kids, five and six years old, little hands pressing keys, stumbling through scales. They were the only light still on in the wreckage of my life.
I was silent for a few seconds.
The restaurant door swung open.
Katherine walked in with two of Max's friends, her surprise pitched perfectly.
"Oh, Max! You're here? We were just passing by and saw your car."
Her gaze landed on me, and she switched instantly to unease and retreat.
She turned to Max, eyes rimming red, her voice so thin it turned my stomach.
"Didn't you say you were working late tonight? I even brought you a late-night snack at the office…"
The two friends looked from Max to me and back again.
Max went still for a beat.
He looked at me. Then at Katherine.
He stood, walked over to her, and draped his jacket over her shoulders.
"It's cold out. Head home."
He shielded her in front of everyone, then turned back to me.
"I've said everything I need to say. Let me know when you've made up your mind."
Then he guided Katherine out.
Through the gap before the door closed, I heard her voice, small and careful.
"Max, I really didn't come on purpose. Please don't be mad…"
His answer was two words.
"It's fine."
The restaurant was empty now. Just me, and a bowl of hot-and-sour fish soup that had gone cold.
