99 Divorce Agreements

On the very night Finn Chapman's first love got divorced, he threw the ninety-ninth divorce agreement at me.

"Lisa's heart is broken. She can't move on. I have to take care of her," he said.

Even our seven-year-old son tried to persuade me.

"You should just agree to the divorce and leave," he told me. "Let Lisa move in. We don't need a maid like you anymore."

Both father and son were certain I'd scream, cry, beg them not to throw me out.

But I didn't. I simply nodded, quietly signed my name on the divorce papers, and left.

Ten years later, my son became the top scorer on the SATs. During an interview, a reporter asked him, "What has motivated you to study so hard all these years?"

He went silent for a moment. Then, in front of everyone, his eyes turned red.

"Because I wanted to tell my mom," he said, voice trembling, "I've grown up now. Will you come back? Please don't leave me again."

[Ms. Carmine, this divorce agreement is valid. Once you sign it, your marriage will be automatically dissolved in a month.]

Looking at the confirmation, I exhaled in relief and turned toward the torn-open package on the floor.

It was a birthday gift from my seven-year-old son for my twenty-seventh birthday—a box filled with used condoms and a photograph of a happy family of three.

In the photo, Finn Chapman was holding a woman tightly, his face softened with a tenderness I had never seen before.

Our mischievous son rested obediently against the woman's chest, his expression full of adoration.

But the woman in the picture wasn't me. It was Finn's first love—the one who had just divorced and returned to the country.

Even the condoms weren't the kind I used. They were the cheese-scented ones Lisa adored.

Today was my twenty-eighth birthday. Early in the morning, Finn lost his temper because I'd stepped into the living room with my left foot first. He stormed off with our son, saying I should stay home and reflect on myself.

I knew that was just an excuse. He simply didn't want to celebrate my birthday.

Scenes like this had played out countless times since Lisa came back.

Like the time her house lost power and he insisted on keeping her company—his reason being that my cooking was terrible, and he had no choice but to take our son out for dinner.

He'd completely forgotten that I held a chef's license, that I'd learned to cook light meals because his stomach couldn't handle the heavy food from all his business banquets.

...

At night, I set the table and cooked several dishes. But they never came back.

By the time the candles on the cake had burned out and the food had gone cold, I finally heard the sound of the front door unlocking.

Our son burst in, excitedly tugging at Finn's hand, chattering about how thrilling the roller coaster had been that day.

Finn smiled