Chapter 3

An officer arrived quickly and took down the details. As luck would have it, the thief on the motorcycle crashed into a guardrail not far up the road. The police recovered my phone on the spot.

I paid my bill like normal. The barista's face still curled with contempt.

"So you didn't dine and dash. Big deal. You're still some guy mooching off a woman who already belongs to someone else."

I didn't have the energy left to argue. This was my nine years, reduced to something cheap and ridiculous in a stranger's eyes.

By the time I finished giving my statement and made it home, it was already late. I opened the door, and Theresa shot up from the couch, then sat back down as if she hadn't meant to react at all.

"Done throwing your tantrum for the day?"

Her tone was as condescending as ever.

"You're thirty years old. Can you stop being so unreasonable? It's no big deal we didn't get the license today. We'll just go again next time."

I lowered my eyes. There wouldn't be a next time.

Another figure stepped out of the master bedroom. It was Hector, wearing my pajamas and using my razor. He caught sight of me and yawned lazily.

"Zachary, you're back. Sorry, I got back too late this afternoon, and Theresa didn't think it was safe for me to head home, so she let me crash here tonight. She cooked earlier, and there's plenty left for you."

He moved like a host welcoming a guest into his own home. I followed his gaze to the table, covered in half-eaten food, most of it swimming in red chili oil, two used plates and sets of cutlery pushed to the side.

I let out a mocking laugh. That wasn't food left for me. That was a table left for me to clear.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not hungry."

Theresa's brow furrowed.

"Hector was kind enough to save you some. Why are you being difficult about it?"

I looked at her and spoke slowly, one word at a time.

"I told you already. I can't eat spicy food."

Her frown deepened, her expression turning strange.

"So eat a few more bites of rice, then. My father was right about you. Orphans really are stubborn and dramatic."

The moment the words left her mouth, I froze completely. I stared at her, unable to believe what I'd just heard.

Theresa's father had always looked down on where I came from. For years, it was Theresa who stood in front of me and refused to let anyone comment on my background. Now, she'd taken the very thing her family considered my flaw and turned it into a blade, driving it straight into me.

In that instant, I understood. She truly didn't deserve my love.

But I couldn't stop the ache spreading through my chest all the same. I took a slow breath and kept my voice quiet.

"Theresa, let's break up.

"My father found me.

"Tomorrow, I'm moving out."

Hector pulled his borrowed pajamas tighter and stepped forward.

"Zachary, don't be like this. If Theresa actually agrees, you'll regret it!"

Sure enough, Theresa's eyes were full of scorn and disdain.

"Zachary, are you really going to make up stories just to spite me? Where would you even get a father from? Are you done with your nonsense yet?

"That's enough. Hector isn't feeling well tonight, so he'll take the master bedroom. You can make do in the guest room."

The guest room was cold and drafty, too much for Hector in his condition, but apparently fine for me, who had a cold.

My throat felt stuffed with something thick, but not one tear fell. I nodded, too tired to argue with her anymore, and walked toward the guest room.

It was our last night together anyway. Sleep mattered more to me right now than another fight.