Chapter 3

"We're eating at home tonight. Ruth invited some relatives."

Peter's message came at four in the afternoon.

When I arrived, seven or eight people sat in the living room.

Peter's relatives—people who normally didn't visit, all here today.

At the dinner table, my seat was gone.

Mary sat on Peter's right, Andrew on her lap.

The chair I usually sat in had been moved to a corner.

"Dorman's here. Get yourself a chair." Ruth didn't even look up.

Peter's father's sister, Bonnie, spoke up.

"Peter, is this the girl you mentioned? So pretty. The child really looks like you."

Peter smiled without denying it.

Bonnie turned to Mary.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four." Mary smiled sweetly.

"Twenty-four with a child this big already—capable. Better than some people."

Bonnie glanced at me.

Ruth chimed in, "Isn't that the truth? Five years and not even a peep."

Around the entire table, not one person spoke up for me.

I stood there, holding a glass of water.

"Dorman, don't just stand there, sit." Peter finally spoke. He pointed to a small chair temporarily added at the end of the table.

I didn't sit.

"Peter, my lawyer can't reach you."

"We're eating. Why bring this up now?"

The table went quiet for two seconds.

"Dorman—" Ruth's fork struck the table. "Are you going to make a scene in front of relatives?"

"This is making a scene?"

"You're being completely unreasonable." Bonnie slammed the table. "Hasn't Peter been good enough to you? Look around this city—how many people live better than you? How many spend more than you?"

I looked at Bonnie.

"Spend more? My supplementary card was canceled. One hundred forty thousand was transferred from my personal account. I have three hundred dollars in my pocket right now, and that's cash I withdrew yesterday."

Bonnie froze, turning to look at Peter.

"Peter, this..."

"Family matters. Don't listen to her one-sided story." His fork didn't stop, his tone impossibly mild. "Dorman's been emotionally unstable lately. I've already scheduled an appointment with a psychologist."

A psychologist. He was calling me sick, in front of everyone.

Mary sat beside him, head down, feeding Andrew, not speaking, not looking at me.

But her phone screen lit up.

I saw her secretly type two words and send them.

"Done."

I couldn't see who she sent it to.

But I clearly saw the contact name on that conversation.

Honey.

At eleven that night, I sat alone in the bedroom.

All bank cards frozen. Lawyer channels blocked. Every relative on his side. Next door came the sound of Mary coaxing the child to sleep, her voice sweet and soft.

I pulled out my phone and found a number saved for five years but never dialed.

My father, Johnson. But I didn't call.

The moment the phone screen dimmed, Ruth's voice drifted up from downstairs.

She was talking to Mary.

"Mary, feel free to settle in. This house will be yours to run sooner or later."

"If she really leaves, all the better. At least she won't be an eyesore. Anyway, she can't take a single useful thing with her."