The Ripe Time for Parting

The second my son finished his scans, I rushed over and grabbed the doctor, demanding the results.

Hearing the words “early-stage brain cancer,” my legs gave out. I pulled my boy into my arms and started sobbing hysterically.

Everyone assumed I was crying out of sheer terror over Leo’s diagnosis. What none of them realized was these were tears of utter relief.

In its early stages, the tumor was benign. This time round, Leo could be saved.

Gavin called right as I finished processing Leo’s hospital admission.

On the other end of the line, his voice carried its usual indifference: “Get dressed. I’m taking you shopping. A thank-you gift for handling things earlier.”

I put on a white suit set he liked and sprayed his favorite perfume.

Gavin arrived half an hour late. I didn’t even need to ask to know that Stella and Luna had held him up.

Wasting no more of my time, I opened the front passenger door, only to meet a ridiculous scene.

Sitting in the passenger seat were two stuffed animals nearly half a person tall, both buckled in with seatbelts.

Hanging around their necks were large sequined letters spelling out: “Reserved for Stella/Luna”.

Gavin glanced over from the driver’s seat: “The girls threw a jealous fit when they heard I was coming to pick you up. They wouldn’t let me leave unless I did this.”

His explanation was completely offhand, as if recounting the most mundane thing.

In my past life, I would have ripped those plushies out, thrown them onto the pavement, and confronted Gavin with red-rimmed eyes, making a huge scene.

Instead, I merely opened the rear door with absolute calm. “We can go now.”

Gavin froze for a second, watching me through the rearview mirror for a few moments before curling his lips into a dry, smirking tug: “Look who’s being so generous today.”

I ignored him, my gaze lowering to the rear floorboards, where several used condoms lay scattered beneath the seat.

So that was how he spent the half hour he kept me waiting—soothing the twins’ jealousy in his own way.

When we arrived at the luxury boutique, I picked a pink tweed set Stella would have liked, followed by an alligator leather handbag from a top luxury brand Luna frequently carried.

Staring at the items, Gavin knitted his brows in confusion.

“Since when did you start liking this stuff?

“Are you trying to copy the girls?”

He wrapped his arms around me from behind. The embrace I used to crave now felt like a suffocating cage.

“They’re young girls. Their style doesn’t suit you. Just stay true to yourself. Evelyn, as long as you keep your act together, you’ll always be the one and only Mrs. Fletcher.”

I acted surprised: “Didn’t you bring me here to pick out gifts for them?”

After all, the wedding gown I had tried on for two months had ended up on Stella’s body.

The honeymoon trip I had spent six months planning was ultimately taken with Luna.

Even our wedding anniversary had turned into Gavin’s triumphant celebration of landing his twins of lovers.

I learned long ago to stop flattering myself.

Gavin’s face darkened at once.

“Evelyn Simpson, I carved out time to take you out because you’ve been sensible lately. Do you have to be such a buzzkill?”

I stood rooted in place, offering no response.

“I’ve never seen a wife as... ungrateful as you.”

With those words, he shoved my hands off, summoned his chauffeur, and sped off into the distance.

He left me standing by the curb all alone, clutching arms full of shopping bags as passersby pointed and whispered.

I flexed my fingers, which throbbed painfully from the heavy straps, before hailing a cab back.

Before I got home, a photo of me taken by paparazzi carrying shopping bags into a cab had hit the headlines.

The caption read: “Mrs. Fletcher takes cab alone with shopping bags—a housekeeper’s grocery trip.”

Just as I exited the news app, messages from Stella and Luna popped up.