I couldn't be bothered to answer Finn. My voice was flat and empty.

"Sorry," I said. "I don't know how to be a mother. Let Lisa do it."

I meant it.

But for some reason, my honesty extinguished whatever anger he'd been holding onto.

He looked at me several times before setting a box of cold seafood soup on the table.

"Don't talk nonsense in front of the kid," he said. "I made this myself. Thought I'd bring you some."

My hand froze mid-pour. A faint, bitter smile tugged at my lips.

I'd seen Lisa's post on social media the night before—a photo of her in an apron, standing in a dimly lit kitchen, stirring a pot of soup.

The caption read: [Everyone likes skinny girls, but you're the one who feeds me properly.]

The lighting was dark, but I'd recognized Finn instantly, standing behind her.

On his left hand, the ring finger still wore our wedding band.

Now, it was gone.

He caught me staring and glanced down at his own bare hand, his expression flickering for a moment.

"I lent it to Lisa," he said. "She wanted to try it on for a couple of days."

It made perfect sense, didn't it? Wedding rings could apparently be borrowed now.

I smiled, trying not to feel anything.

My smile seemed to irritate him.

"Don't make a fuss over a stupid ring," he snapped. "Just finish the soup. I'm warning you—take the chance when I give you one. Or do you want another divorce agreement?"

His tone carried the same self-assured dominance as always.

He didn't know—I'd already signed it.

I glanced at the bowl. The soup had congealed overnight; the grains stuck together, solid and gray. Among them floated shrimp shells and tiny fish bones someone hadn't bothered to pick out.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm allergic to seafood."

He froze, embarrassment flashing across his face.

Our son, still sulking from earlier, walked over, eyes red and angry.

"It's just an allergy," he scoffed. "Lisa said mild allergies won't kill you."

He glared at me like I was his enemy. "You're just pretending—trying to steal Dad's attention. Don't believe her, Dad."

Before I could react, Finn grabbed me and forced me down against the dining table. His face twisted with fury, as if I were some disobedient child.

"Heather," he hissed, "you really don't know what's good for you."

He squeezed my cheeks until my jaw ached, then forced the cold soup into my mouth.

Our son clapped his hands, laughing in delight.

When I finally swallowed the last mouthful, Finn released me and wiped the corner of my lips, his tone suddenly tender.

"See? That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

I shoved him away, clutching at my throat, trying to make myself throw up.

But it was too late. My throat began to swell, blisters rising under the skin. Each breath came shorter, harsher.

In the final second before everything went dark, I saw them both running toward me in a blur of panic.

…

When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. The air was heavy with disinfectant, sharp but strangely comforting.

A nurse explained, "You went into anaphylactic shock. If your husband hadn't rushed you here, the outcome could've been much worse."

I turned my head, a dry laugh catching in my throat. He'd known I was allergic—and still forced it down my throat.

The nurse kept talking.

"But honestly, he dropped you off, took a phone call, and left. We haven't been able to reach him since."

She sighed. "You should give your husband a call. The hospital bill hasn't been paid yet."

I froze, suddenly realizing I was still wearing my pajamas. My wallet and phone were both left at home.

I took the phone the nurse handed me and dialed Finn's number.

The first call was hung up on immediately. Then the second. The third. The fourth…

It wasn't until the ninth call that someone finally answered.

"Who's this?"

Lisa's sultry voice came through, low and breathless, as if she'd just been pulled from bed.

The words I'd meant to say froze in my throat.

I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to steady my voice.

"This is Heather. I'm looking for Finn."

For a moment, there was silence on the other end. Then her tone softened into something coy.

"Oh, it's you, Heather. Finn's in the shower—worked up a sweat just now. Probably not the best time.

"Why don't you just tell me what you need? That way you won't have to call again. We're only taking a short break… we'll be busy again soon."

I lowered my head, blinking away the sting in my eyes.

"That won't be necessary."

I ended the call.

The nurse was still standing there, waiting for an answer.

What was I supposed to say? That my husband wasn't coming because he was too busy sleeping with the woman he once called the love of his life?

Maybe she sensed my hesitation, because she quietly offered to cover the hospital fee for me.

I thanked her, but the gratitude only deepened the ache inside.

I was twenty-eight, already a mother—and when things fell apart, the person who helped me wasn't my husband, or my child, but a stranger with kind eyes.

If marriage was an exam, I hadn't even passed.

Fifteen days left until the divorce was finalized. I was discharged that morning.

It happened to be my son's birthday, but I didn't want to go home. I found a small restaurant instead, sat down, and ordered something simple.

And then, just as the food arrived, I saw them.

They looked like a family of three walking in through the door—Lisa holding Finn's arm, Michael's hand in hers, smiling like a woman who had everything.

Someone nearby greeted them with a grin.

"So this is your wife, Finn? Finally meeting her in person—she's just as beautiful as they say. No wonder you keep her hidden away."

His voice carried, drawing attention from every corner of the restaurant.

Finn hesitated, about to say something, but before he could, Michael piped up, "Dad, Mom's shy!"

He wasn't loud, but the words hit me with perfect precision.

I looked at his face—his bright, carefree smile—and it hit me that he'd grown up.

He wasn't the soft, tender baby I once held in my arms. He'd become like a knife that stabbed at me constantly.

It was fine. I didn't want him anymore.

A sudden chorus of teasing broke through my thoughts.

"Come on, kiss her! Kiss her!"

Even my son clapped his hands, laughing.

"Dad, don't be scared! Just kiss her already!"

Lisa gave him a playful scold, then turned to Finn with a look full of shy expectation.

He hesitated, his face uncertain.

When she finally wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in, his eyes met mine across the restaurant.

…

"Heather?"

Panic flickered through his face as he shoved Lisa aside and stumbled for words.

"They were just joking around. What are you doing here?"

Following his gaze, others turned and saw me too.

Michael's smile vanished. He took two hesitant steps toward me, then stopped, looked away, and stood frozen in place.

I let out a quiet sigh.

"I just got out of the hospital," I said. "Came to get something to eat. You can… carry on."

When I finished speaking, I turned and walked away.

Finn froze for a moment, then instinctively tried to follow, but Lisa caught his hand. She held onto him, feigning innocence.

"But it's Michael's birthday today," she said softly. "Why would Heather leave so suddenly? Did she forget? Or… maybe she never planned to celebrate with him at all."

She gave a little sigh. "As a mother, that's really irresponsible, isn't it?"

At that, Michael stepped in front of Finn, his small voice sharp and trembling.

"Dad, don't bother with her! She doesn't even remember my birthday!"

Though his words were angry, his eyes were already red—like a child betrayed by the person he trusted most.

Finn looked at him, torn, and after a long pause finally pulled the boy into his arms.

"Don't be mad," he murmured. "Dad and Lisa will celebrate your birthday with you."

They sat down. The restaurant had a warm, easy atmosphere, the cake was perfect—sweet, soft, expensive.

But all the while, Finn couldn't shake the image of me walking away. It kept replaying, an ache at the back of his mind.

Even the boy, who had been so loud just moments ago, turned quiet. No matter how Lisa tried to coax him, his eyes stayed rimmed with red.

I didn't know any of this. I had already gone home.

I'd planned to stay until the thirty days were up before leaving for good. But after picturing that almost-kiss between them, I realized—there was no point.

I placed the signed divorce papers on the table, picked up my suitcase, and stepped out the door.

On the way, I ran into the neighbor's kid and handed him the limited-edition toy I'd bought for Michael's birthday.

I'd spent weeks searching all over town for it, even tracked down the manga artist to get his autograph on it. But now, I thought maybe my leaving was the only gift Michael really wanted.

Meanwhile, when the birthday dinner finally ended, Finn hurried home with our restless son.

As they entered the apartment complex, we crossed paths.

He went pale at the sight of the luggage in my hand.

But before he could speak, Michael blurted out, his face lighting up,

"Bad woman! You knew I was mad, so you're taking me on a trip, right? Where's my luggage? Why didn't you bring my Ultraman suitcase?"

He frowned when I stayed silent.

"And you have to apologize to me right now," he said, puffing up his little chest. "Promise you'll never forget my birthday again, and stop getting jealous about Dad and Lisa. If you do that, I'll agree to go with you."

Still, I said nothing.

He sighed dramatically. "Fine. Forget the apology. Just promise you won't forget my birthday again. Next time Dad takes me and Lisa out to play, I'll ask them to bring you too. But only once a week, okay? Lisa doesn't like it when you come too often."

He reached out to take my hand.

To his surprise—and his father's—I stepped back.

Their eyes widened, uneasy.

Then, without a word, I pulled a thick stack of papers from my bag.

"Ninety-nine divorce agreements," I said. "Not one missing. The last one's signed. Finn, I'm done fighting with you. Let's divorce."