Chapter 7

In the days that followed, Michael kept sending me messages.

[The food down in Southwick is so sweet. I just can’t get used to it.]

Attached was a photo of an elaborate local meal, including sweet-glazed shrimp, honeyed ribs, and syrupy desserts arranged on delicate white plates.

Two days after, he sent me a video.

The footage was shaky.

Brielle crouched on the beach, her back to the camera, her white dress fluttering in the wind.

She was holding small white shells in her hand and placing them one by one onto the sand.

The camera zoomed in, and the shells spelled out Michael’s name.

Waves crashed in, one after another. Off-screen, Michael laughed and said, “Look how bored your girlfriend is.”

In the video, Brielle looked genuinely happy.

She had once smiled and promised to do so many things with me, and she had given every single one of those promises to someone else.

I kept looking at my phone over and over, watching the screen turn on and off, unable to decide what to do.

Finally, I opened Brielle’s chat box and sent her a text.

[Let’s break up.]

Then, I blocked Michael on WhatsApp.

My decisiveness surprised even me.

The next evening, they came home.

The moment Brielle stepped through the door, she shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Finley, why did you block Mic? He couldn’t even enjoy the second half of the trip because of you!

“Also, what’s this about breaking up?”

After she spoke, she finally realized that the house was empty.

In an instant, she felt a sense of unease wash over her.

Michael called out to her from the doorway.

“Bree, hurry up! Mom and Dad are heading to the courthouse.”

“Fin isn’t home,” she replied hesitantly.

Mom stood outside the door as she said indifferently, “Forget about him.

“Today is the day the divorce is finalized. Let’s take care of our own business first.”

Inside the courthouse lobby, my parents sat side by side on a bench.

They argued fiercely over who would get custody of Michael.

In the end, both sides compromised and worked out a complicated rotating schedule.

Michael would stay at Dad’s place on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays.

He would live with Mom on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.

On Sundays, both parents would spend the day with him together.

The clerk looked exasperated. “You have another son, don’t you? How are you handling custody for him?”

Mom did not even lift her head as she said, “He’s already eighteen anyway. Legally, I’ve fulfilled my obligation to support him.”

Dad chimed in.

“With his grades, he’ll have to fend for himself from now on. The best we can do is put Mic through school. Mic is the hope of this family.”

Brielle gripped Michael’s hand tightly.

“Don’t worry, Mic. I’ll take care of you through all four years of college. Later on, I’ll—”

Just then, the courthouse lobby’s glass door swung open.

A crowd of people surged in, carrying cameras and holding out microphones.

The lead reporter swept his gaze across the hall and finally locked onto Mom and Dad.

He strode over, barely containing his excitement as he said, “Excuse me, are you two the parents of this year’s state top scorer?!”