Putting Everything on the Table

I was the first to arrive.

The door opened at 2:58 p.m. Zachary's mother walked, carrying the child in her arms, smiling ear to ear. "Bubba, look what I got you—"

Her words stopped short as she saw me. Her expression froze for half a second before she forced out a smile. "Ellie, you're early."

Zachary followed behind her. I could see dark circles under his eyes. It was obvious that he hadn't slept all night. He avoided looking at me and quietly pulled out a chair.

The last to enter was Yara. She matter-of-factly perched herself next to Zachary, which was incidentally the seat that used to be mine.

My mother-in-law placed the little boy in the empty chair between them. And just like that, the four of them sat together, while I sat alone at the opposite end of the long table. We were like two opposing camps.

A server came in to pour us water. I slid the tablet menu toward the child. "Let's order. What do you like?"

The boy, who had been sneaking glances at me, whispered, "Shrimp."

"We'll get a sharing plate of shrimp scampi then." I checked it off on the tablet. "And lemon steamed halibut, honey-glazed pork ribs… Yara, you're pregnant. Do you need to avoid anything?"

Silence swept across the table. My mother-in-law set her glass down with a sharp clatter.

"No." Yara stroked her belly and looked at Zachary with soft, tender eyes. "Zachary said he wants this baby to have a complete family."

"That's bullsh*t!" He shot to his feet.

"Bullsh*t?" She looked up at him, eyes reddening instantly. "Didn't you tell me last night that we'd get married once Estelle agreed to the divorce?"

His mother hurried to smooth things over. "Alright, alright, let's eat first—"

I interrupted softly, "Since the topic's already out, let's put everything on the table."

With that, I opened my laptop and connected it to the room's projector. The screen lit up—page one was a summary of bank transfers.

"Over the past eight years, Zachary transferred a total of 768 thousand to you, marked as living expenses. Two years ago, he transferred another 500 thousand and marked it down as housing funds.

"In addition, he transferred 20 thousand for international preschool tuition, 12 thousand for extracurricular tutoring, around 15 thousand for overseas trips, and about 30 thousand in luxury purchases…"

I flipped page after page—every number clear, every date precise. "All of this came from our marital assets."

Yara's face turned pale with every transaction I spoke. Still, she recovered quickly, letting out a sneer. "Estelle, what's your point? These were voluntary payments. Zachary gave them to me as child support!"

I looked at Zachary. "Were they voluntary?"

Zachary opened his mouth, but his mother cut in before he could speak. "Of course they were! My grandson deserves every penny!"

"If they were his rightful expenses, the money should've come from Zachary's personal account—not ours," I argued, then switched to the next page, displaying the relevant provisions of state law.

"During a marriage, if one spouse gives away shared marital property without the other's consent, the other spouse has the right to demand full reimbursement."

Yara shot to her feet. "Estelle! Don't push your luck! I have a child with Zachary!"

"As for the child…" I glanced at the boy. A brief ache flickered through me before I steeled myself. "He can receive child support—but only a reasonable amount. Besides…"

My gaze landed on Yara. "The home you live in was paid for with my money."

Silence crashed over the private room again.

She glared daggers at me. "Estelle, do you hate me so much that you'd steal my son's home?"