Chapter 3

All the way there, Sarah was praising Mark for being thoughtful, considerate, and having a great sense of things. I simply turned my head toward the window and said nothing.

The car stopped in front of a cozy family-style restaurant. Mom and a few relatives were already seated inside a private room.

When I pushed the door open, I saw Mom sitting at the head of the table, looking a little uncomfortable. A full table of dishes was laid out before her. The plates were exquisite, and the presentation was beautiful, but almost every dish was noticeably missing a portion.

Most of the tenderest meat from the roast chicken had been scooped away, and only a few scraps of lobster were left at the bottom of the platter. The mashed potatoes were half-full in a bowl, and one-third of the apple pie was missing. Those were leftovers taken straight from yesterday’s first birthday party.

When Mom saw me, her eyes immediately reddened. She stood up, took my arm, and leaned into my ear.

“Conner, tell me the truth. What is the relationship between that man named Mark and Sarah? He came over to greet us, saying he planned everything for you. He even called you his good friend. But by the looks of these dishes… Something’s not right. Someone has already eaten from them.”

My blood ran cold. “What else did he say?”

Mom’s lips trembled as she replied, “He said… he said he was too busy taking care of his kid yesterday to prepare fresh ones and that Sarah made all of these herself. He said she put her heart into them, so we shouldn’t turn it down. He also said… that since we’re practically family, there was no need to make a big deal out of it.”

Footsteps sounded outside the private room. Sarah pushed the door open, with Mark following right behind her, holding his one-year-old son in his arms.

Noticing me, Mark walked over with a bright smile. “Conner, you’re here! Please sit! These are Sarah’s best dishes, and they were extremely popular at yesterday’s party. It would be a shame to throw away such good food, and I figured I’d let your mother try some.”

He sounded so sincere. It was as if he were truly looking out for us.

The relatives exchanged looks, uncertain whether to keep eating. Mom’s face turned pale, and she gripped my hand tightly beneath the table.

I looked at Sarah. She saw the food on the table, too.

She wasn’t blind. As a head chef, her eye for food was sharper than anyone else’s, and she frowned.

In that moment, I ridiculously held onto a faint sliver of expectation. I expected her to speak up for me, even if it was just a slight frown and a comment like, “This isn’t really appropriate.”

Instead, she remained silent for two seconds before turning her head away and saying nonchalantly, “It’s still a kind gesture from Mark. Even though the dishes were served before, they are clean. Let’s not waste them.”

I heard Mom take a deep breath.

“Exactly,” Mark said with a smile. “I specifically asked the kitchen to reheat them, so they taste the same. Anything Sarah cooks tastes great even when it’s cold, not to mention I took the trouble to plate them again. Try this chicken. It was the best dish yesterday!”

He emphasized the word “yesterday” very lightly.

Suddenly, I laughed. It was a laugh of absolute despair. It was like having a bucket of ice water poured over my head in the dead of winter—so cold that I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.

“Mom, let’s go.”

I bent down and helped Mom up.

“Hey, Conner…” Mark made a move to stop us.

Sarah frowned, too. “What are you up to now? You’re already here!”

“I’m not throwing a fit.”

I turned to look at her. My voice was so calm that it surprised even me.

“Sarah, you’re right. Let’s not waste it. Since you cooked these dishes yourself, it should go to someone special. Since we’re not that person, we’ll pass.”

Sarah’s expression changed. She stared into my eyes, as if trying to find the same forbearance and compromise from before. However, she found nothing.

I helped Mom out of the private room. The relatives froze for a moment before putting down their utensils and following us out. Sarah didn’t come running after us.

Mom walked beside me, her voice suddenly raspy. “Conner, if you don’t want to go on living like this, I support you.”

I didn’t say a word; I just squeezed her hand tightly.

That night, after waiting for Sarah to fall asleep, I sat alone in front of the living room computer and opened a blank document. The cursor blinked on the screen as I typed the words ‘divorce agreement.’

I sat there for a long time, long enough for the sky outside the window to go from pitch black to deep blue, and from deep blue to greyish white. Line by line, the clauses filled up the document. Ten years of marriage, when reduced to paper, amounted to no more than a few pages.

I wrote with total calmness. The moment I finished, I didn’t hesitate to book my flight.

Sarah was fast asleep. She had no idea that I didn’t want her anymore. She didn’t know that the man who had spent ten years walking on eggshells around her had quietly signed his name on the document in the middle of the night.