Seven Years, Buried Under

For the ninth time, Maurice Carter, who was Sylvie Carter's bedridden father, had torn up her marriage certificate with Theodore Bretman.

Theodore looked on and realized he was exhausted. He simply stared at the shreds of paper. The certificate's cover was still stained from the chicken soup Maurice had just hurled at him.

Whenever Maurice was upset, he always took it out by tearing up the marriage certificate.

“What are you staring at?” Lying on the bed, Maurice snarled at Theodore in a sharp voice, “Do you think I’d be bedridden if it wasn’t for you? You’re a harbinger of bad luck!”

As Theodore was silently picking the shredded paper from the floor, he got a papercut from one of the pieces. Yet, he suppressed the pain and gently wiped away the soup stain on his shirt.

“Quit acting like you’re the victim!” Maurice grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table and hurled it at him. “Get out! Just looking at you sickens me!”

Theodore felt the glass barely graze his ear before it smashed into smithereens against the wall. With that, he slowly backed out of the room and closed the door shut behind him.

There, he leaned against the corridor wall and took a deep, long breath. The scent of disinfectant hit his nose, jogging his memories to the countless days and nights he had spent in the hospital over the past two years.

Then, he reached for his phone to text Sylvie.

[Honey, do you think we should hire a caregiver for your father? Today, he…]

Though the interface indicated the text had been read, there was no reply. Theodore stared at the screen for ten minutes before finally putting it away and heading to the city hall to have his marriage certificate reprinted.

The lobby was very quiet when he arrived. He approached the counter and handed the ruined certificate to a clerk, who looked it up in the system.

With a frown, the clerk informed him, “Mr. Bretman, it says here that the waiting period of the divorce is underway and that there is only a week to go. I’m afraid we cannot issue a replacement for the marriage certificate at this time.”

Theodore thought he had misheard, so he asked for clarification, “What divorce?”

The clerk turned the screen toward him. “It says here that your wife has filed for divorce and that you are in the middle of the waiting period.”

Theodore gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, he recalled signing some documents Sylvie handed him at one point last week. She told him they were hospital bills, and he signed them without inspecting them as he was busy looking after Maurice.

The clerk looked at him sympathetically, then asked, “Would you like to cancel the divorce?”

He heard the people in line behind him murmuring between themselves, “Isn’t he the one who married into the Carters? Rumors have it that he’s been latching onto Sylvie Carter and refuses to leave her.”

“Yeah. I heard Maurice Carter’s leg would have been cured if it wasn’t for him.”

Looking at the ring on his finger, Theodore felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart.

“It’s fine.” He said softly, “You said the divorce certificate will be ready in a week, is that right?”

After he got the confirmation, he scampered out of the city hall as if he was running away from something. Although it was hot outside, he was freezing.

On his way back to the hospital in a cab, Sylvie finally replied to his text.

[I’m busy at work. We can talk tonight.]

He found himself unlocking his phone over and over to confront her, but he did not.

The hospital corridor was eerily quiet when he arrived. As he was approaching Maurice’s ward, he heard muffled laughter coming from inside. When he cracked open the door, he was stunned by what he saw.

Maurice was standing by the bedside on both legs without any support and eating an apple that Carmelo Colt was peeling for him. Meanwhile, Sylvie, who had claimed to be busy moments ago, was massaging his shoulders.

“Getting me to fake my disability is a brilliant move.” Maurice remarked smugly, “I’m sure that fool never realized I’ve been able to walk for a while.”

“Don’t say that, Maurice.” Carmelo jested, “It hasn’t been easy on Theodore to take care of you!”

Maurice scoffed, “If anything, he owes me that much! If he hadn’t stopped Sylvie from answering her phone, I wouldn’t be stuck in the hospital for so long!”

Theodore was gripping the doorframe so hard his knuckles turned white. He was staring at Sylvie, who wore an indecipherable expression but said nothing to rebuke her father.

Then, Maurice suddenly asked, “Sylvie, haven’t you signed the divorce papers? Why is he still here?”

Sylvie muttered in a low voice, “We’re still in the ‘waiting’ period, and besides–”

“What is it?” Maurice cut her off. “Don’t give me any more nonsense about you having second thoughts! Carmelo is better than him in every way!”

“Dad!” Sylvie’s cried out suddenly. “Let me decide how I want to handle my divorce, alright? You should just focus on your recovery!”

Maurice brushed her off impatiently. “Fine, fine, you can do whatever you want. Either way, the divorce is a done deal, and he can be a free nanny for me as much as he wants.”

Theodore slowly backed away from the door, his vision blurring with tears. He was the very last person to find out about his own divorce.

As he was walking away, he heard another round of roaring laughter from inside the ward. He approached the window, then reached for his phone to dial a number he hadn’t called in a long time.

“Hey, it’s me.” His voice was eerily calm. “I need your help to get me out of here as soon as you can.”

After a brief silence, the voice on the other end replied, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” Theodore stared at the leaves of the tree swaying gently in the breeze before he continued, “It’s been two years. I’ve done my dues and repaid whatever I owe the Carters.”

After hanging up, he glanced toward Maurice’s ward. They were still laughing merrily, like a picture-perfect family.

The only problem was that he was never part of that family because he was never welcomed.