Chapter 4

"Fine. Let's get a divorce," I said.

Henry and Sylvia both froze.

"What did you just say?" Henry asked in disbelief.

I repeated, "Let's get a divorce. We'll finish it at the courthouse today."

Sylvia's face lit up with pure excitement.

"Henry! She agreed! Hurry, let's go now! Once we get the papers, we can finally be together openly!"

Henry glanced at me as something complicated flickered in his eyes. Then, relief washed over his face. He nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

…

At the courthouse, the staff looked at the three of us in confusion.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Henry cut in immediately. "Yes! Just process it!"

The staff sighed and handed over the forms. "Sign here."

Henry signed so fast that his pen nearly tore through the paper.

Sylvia stood beside him as she gripped his arm tightly. She could barely hide her smile.

I picked up the pen. Stroke by stroke, I wrote my name.

Then, it was stamped.

Henry snatched his copy of the divorce certificate. He flipped through it repeatedly before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"I'm free! I'm finally free!"

Sylvia threw herself into his arms. "Babe! Let's book the tickets now! Malakor's sunny beach is waiting for us!"

The two of them clung to each other as they laughed as if nothing else mattered.

Henry wrapped an arm around Sylvia and walked over to me.

"Madeline, I should thank you," he began. "Thank you for working yourself to death for eight years to make money for me. Now, you can go back to scrubbing toilets. Sylvia and I are off to live the good life."

Sylvia leaned into him with a sweet smile on her face.

"Madeline's had it rough, too. Eight years of cleaning toilets, and now she has nothing left. Kind of pathetic, honestly."

She paused, then raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Oh, Madeline, you don't know, do you? Henry's cancer is fake. The report was fake. It cost us 200 bucks. How else were we going to squeeze that last 50 thousand out of you?"

"That's right! It was fake. Every bit of it! Now that we've got the money and the divorce papers, we can finally relax and enjoy ourselves," Henry exclaimed.

I watched them, then slowly took a document out of my bag. "Your diagnosis is fake?"

"No shit," he scoffed. "If I really had cancer, how would I enjoy life?"

I handed him the file. "Take a look at this."

Henry frowned and took it. Sylvia leaned in beside him.

It was an official report from the hospital.

On it was Henry's name and his diagnosis of late-stage liver cancer.

The report had the attending physician's signature and the hospital's seal.

Henry's face turned deathly pale.