Outside the hotel, I sat by the flowerbed and opened the meal box.
I fed Anne bit by bit until she finally regained a little color in her face. Yet, she was still weak.
Her small head rested on my shoulder as she whispered, “I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have wanted those socks.”
She was only five years old and yet she already understood too much of this mess.
Hearing her apology felt like acid burning through my chest. “It’s not your fault, Anne. Don’t ever think that.”
I soothed her gently and carried her all the way home.
As soon as I opened the door, Theresa stood up from the couch where she’d been sitting. “Where have you been? Why so late?”
She was holding a small piece of cake, her face showing a trace of regret. “The butler told me it was Anne’s birthday the other day. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I lowered my eyes. What was there left to say?
The old Theresa used to remember every special day like Anne’s birthdays, our anniversaries, even silly dates like our first kiss or the day we held hands. Now, there was no place for us in her heart.
Seeing me silent, Theresa tried to smile as she handed the cake to Anne.
“Look, Anne, your favorite cake!” But the girl who once adored her mother instinctively pushed it away and gagged.
Anne was frightened. She still remembered how Gregory’s son had smashed a cake into her face.
Theresa’s face darkened with embarrassment.
Unable to hold her temper, she snapped at me, “You’ve spoiled her! She won’t even eat cake now. What does she want, caviar? Gregory was right! Making you wash dishes was the right thing to do!”
That was the last straw. I couldn’t hold my anger anymore.
“Do you know why Anne cried? Because that cake you’re holding was what Gregory’s son didn’t finish. You gave her the leftovers!”
My voice was calm, but every word was sharp as a knife. Theresa froze, stunned.
After a few seconds, she stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Anne, Mommy didn’t do it on purpose—”
I didn’t want to hear more. Exhausted, I carried Anne back to our room and said only,
“Remember to sign the divorce papers.”
That sentence enraged Theresa further. She smashed the cake and grabbed my wrist tightly.
“Divorce? Stop being ridiculous! It’s just a piece of cake! Why can’t she eat it?”
I lost control and shouted, “It’s a blueberry cake! Anne is allergic to blueberries! Do you want her to die?”
Theresa froze, speechless. “I forgot… I’m sorry.”
She tried to take my hand. “I made a mistake, but I won’t agree to the divorce. I’ll make it up to you both. Let’s go celebrate her birthday properly, okay?”
She grabbed us and began calling a restaurant to book a table while gently stroking Anne’s hair.
Then, suddenly, Gregory came out of his room, clutching his stomach.
“Reesa, my stomach hurts!” he groaned.
Theresa immediately let go of me and hurried to him. The tiny smile that had just appeared on Anne’s face vanished again.
Theresa supported Gregory, saying anxiously, “It must be his old stomach problem. It can get serious, I can’t ignore it.”
I said nothing.
Meanwhile, Theresa was already rushing out to start the car.
