Chapter 3 The Divorce Agreement

Selina stood up and rudely pointed at my nose as if she were completely in the right.

"What do you mean by your money? Aunt Bethy gave it to us willingly! It's compensation for emotional support," she spat.

Then, she sneered as she continued, "Besides, that wife of yours doesn't deserve such luxury. What's wrong with Aunt Bethy giving her 100 per month? A woman like her deserves to eat nothing but bug-infested pasta!"

"Logan!" Bethy screamed and grabbed my arm. "I was the one who gave them the money! I'm your mother! I gave birth to you, so I can give your money to whoever I want!"

Then, she pointed at Joseph as a flicker of panic flashed through her eyes. "We would've been doomed if it hadn't been for Joseph! Show some gratitude!"

"What kind of favor takes more than a million to repay?" I asked.

Joseph casually raised his glass and mocked sarcastically, "Logan, your mother is a sensible woman. Things will get pretty ugly soon if you keep raising a fuss. Isn't that right, Bethy?"

Bethy shuddered and nodded repeatedly.

"That's right, Logan. Let's just pretend that none of this ever happened…" she muttered.

I suddenly burst out laughing as I stared at the trio of greedy leeches. Then, I pulled out my phone and called the bank's customer service line.

"Hello. I want to report my salary card ending in 7821 as lost. Yes, please freeze it immediately."

All the color in Bethy's cheeks disappeared when she heard my words.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked.

"Joseph. Selina." I stared at them. "1.2 million. I have records of every single transfer she made. You have three days to give me my money back. Otherwise, I'm going to report you to the police for extortion."

The wineglass in Joseph's hand jerked violently.

I turned and stormed out the door, listening to Bethy's heart-wrenching wails echo behind me.

I'd mistakenly assumed that I'd been risking my life for my family for the past five years. Yet, what actually happened was that I'd personally pushed my wife into a hellhole where she couldn't even afford enough food.

I recalled her empty eyes as she told me about subsisting off a mere 100 dollars. I thought of the empty refrigerator and a pile of overdue notices that were sprawled across the floor. I didn't dare to imagine how desperate she must have felt.

When I passed the 24-hour shop at the entrance to the neighborhood, I went inside and bought the most expensive chicken soup they had, along with several hot dishes.

Then, I held the insulated bag tightly against my chest and ran all the way back to our run-down old residential complex.

I was going to apologize to Sophia. I was going to tell her that I'd frozen the card and would take back every last cent of the money that I was owed. I was going to tell her that she would be in charge of our household finances from now on.

I was panting heavily by the time I climbed up to the fifth floor. My hands trembled slightly as I pulled out the key and opened the door.

The lights were on, and Sophia had changed into clean clothes. However, I saw her sitting next to an old suitcase that had clearly been packed beforehand.

She sat quietly on the sofa, looking not unlike a soulless puppet.

She turned her head mechanically when she heard the door open. Her eyes fell on the insulated bag in my arms, but there wasn't the slightest ripple of emotion in her hollow eyes.

Naturally, I noticed her non-reaction and felt a lump in my throat. Then, I hurried over and took the soup out.

"Sophia, I bought you some sou—"

"Forget it." Sophia cut me off.

Then, she gently slid two sheets of A4 paper across the coffee table.

"Logan, sign them."

I froze where I stood, my gaze following her fingertips to the two sheets of paper.

There were only two words printed at the top in black and white. "Divorce agreement," it said. Nevertheless, my eyes slid down to the bottom-right corner. Sophia had already signed her name on it.

I could tell from the crinkle that she'd pressed the pen down so hard that it had nearly torn through the paper.

The insulated bag I'd been carrying slipped from my hand. It hit the floor, and the chicken soup spilled everywhere.

Nonetheless, even the heat wafting off it couldn't warm this apartment, which felt as cold as an ice cellar.