Rather than entering the ward, Theodore hailed a cab to head home right away.
That evening, Sylvie returned home to find Theodore, who had just packed his luggage.
Without looking up, he said, “Your father broke three bowls again today and complained about how I’m not as thoughtful as Carmelo is.”
Sylvie loosened her tie and grumbled impatiently, “He’s been sick for two years. Of course he would have a temper. Would it kill you to humor him a little?”
“Humor him, you say?” Theodore chuckled sarcastically, then showed her the soup-stained spot on his shirt. “He spilled chicken soup on me this morning.”
“Enough!” Sylvie snatched the shirt from him and hurled it onto the bed. “Theodore, you’ve changed! You never used to be like this!”
“Would you tell me how I used to be?” Theodore rose abruptly, his eyes teary. “I used to get up at five every morning to make breakfast for your father, didn’t I? Or were you talking about the version of myself who used to scrub the floor on my knees while he insulted me for being a harbinger of bad luck?”
Sylvie pressed her lips together, then turned away stiffly. “You know perfectly well why Dad ended up bedridden.”
A heavy silence fell over the room as Theodore clenched his fist.
It all started with a phone call. On a fateful night two years ago, he was being intimate with Sylvie when Maurice called.
“Don’t answer it.” He said then, his arms still wrapped around her waist as he indulged in the moment, “It’s our wedding anniversary tonight…”
Sylvie hesitated and kissed him before imploring, “It’ll just be a minute.”
“You say that every time!” Furious, he threw the phone to the floor and cried out again, “How many times has your father faked an illness? If you answer the call, we’re through!’
He could still remember the look in Sylvie’s eyes going from shocked to helpless and resigned.
With a sigh, she set the phone aside, pulled him into a hug, and assured him, “Alright, I won’t answer it.”
It was only the next day when they heard news about Maurice having suffered a sudden stroke the previous night. Since nobody answered his call for help, he was not rushed to the hospital in that crucial window and ended up paralyzed.
Back to the present, Theodore confessed in a hoarse voice, “Yes, I was the one who did it to him. That’s why for the past two years, I’ve been slaving away taking care of him. But do you think I deserve to have food thrown at me just because of that? That I deserve to have Carmelo boss me around like I’m his slave?”
Sylvie suddenly ran her hand through her hair and announced in an agitated voice, “Carmelo is moving in tomorrow.”
Theodore was taken aback. “What?”
“Dad is fond of him.” She softened her voice as if she were talking to a child. “It’s only going to be for a few months, and once his condition gets better, Carmelo will move out.”
“Sylvie.” Theodore interrupted her. “I went to the city hall today.”
Sylvie’s body stiffened.
“The clerk told me there is only a week left in our divorce waiting period,” he announced as he stared at her frozen expression. “Was the document you had me sign a month ago the divorce papers?”
“You found out?” Sylvie exclaimed while taking his wrist. “Dad threatened to kill himself. I had to do it to keep him happy!”
“And you didn’t even bother to tell me?” Theodore flung her hand away. “We’ve been together for seven years! Don’t you think I have every right to know about that?”
Sylvie suddenly became upset. “Could you stop being so snappy? Have you thought about how difficult it is for me since I’m caught in the middle?”
Theodore was floored. Suddenly, he recalled his very first meeting with her parents.
The first time she took him to see Maurice, he hurled a bowl of soup right in front of her and announced, “The only son-in-law I will ever accept is Carmelo Colt!”
That same night, Sylvie hugged him on the balcony and apologized tenderly, “I’m sorry. My dad has a temper, so please, bear with it for a moment. Think about how hard it is for me.”
Later, when Maurice refused to attend their wedding, she did the same thing by holding his hand and assuring him, “My dad just needs some time to accept our relationship.”
Fast forward to when Maurice became paralyzed, she dropped to her knees and begged Theodore to quit his job to take care of him. “Theodore, you’re the only one who can help me.”
Every time, he caved in, but now, he was exhausted.
“Sylvie,” he asked suddenly, “do you love me?”
She paused for a moment before blurting out, “Of course I do! Please, Theodore, don’t put me in a tough spot.”
Theodore felt beaten down. Since there was only a week to go, why did it matter?
With that in mind, he nodded meekly.
“Carmelo will be staying in the guest room.” She suddenly changed the subject. “You should get some rest.”
After she shut the door, Theodore collapsed onto the bed.
Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the curtains, and he saw the dusty picture frame on the nightstand. It was a framed picture of Sylvie and him running down the beach while holding hands. The hem of her dress was damp from the seawater, and she was looking back at him.
Even now, he could hear her voice calling out, “Hurry up, Theodore!”
The seven years they spent were nothing more than a fading dream.
He reached for his phone and sent a text.
[Pick me up in a week, just as we planned.]
As soon as he hit send, a loud boom came from downstairs.
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