But Caleb patted her back affectionately, his voice soft. “Don’t be afraid. She’s just here to apologize.”
Then his tone turned icy as he looked at me with clear disgust. “I told you to bring something as a peace offering. Why’d you come empty-handed? You’re not young anymore. Don’t you even know how to apologize properly?”
Despite that, I didn’t bother arguing. Instead, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag, laid them on his desk, and said coldly, “Sign it. We’re getting divorced.”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then his face darkened.
“What are you trying to pull now?” he snapped. “You know my mom only ever approved of you as her daughter-in-law. She’d never agree to a divorce. Are you doing this just to make her scold me again?”
So, he still remembered his mother.
I let out a bitter laugh and said quietly, “Your mother can’t scold you anymore.”
His expression shifted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Go home,” I said evenly. “You’ll see for yourself.”
He glared at me impatiently. “Stop confusing me with your nonsense. It's your mom that had died, not mine. How long are you going to keep this up? Just leave. You’re embarrassing me here. I’m not divorcing you!”
Just then, Brielle, who had been enjoying the show, suddenly wiped away nonexistent tears and sniffled pitifully.
“Aria, I know I bought my driver’s license and my driving skills are terrible,” she said, voice trembling, “but that accident really wasn’t my fault! You’re only filing for divorce now to threaten Caleb to make him send me to prison, aren’t you?”
She looked so fragile and wronged that anyone who didn’t know better might’ve believed her.
And that included Caleb. He pulled her into his arms protectively and cooed, “Brielle, don’t cry. As long as I’m here, you’ll never go to prison.”
Then he turned on me, fury burning in his eyes. “Aria, Brielle’s just a kid. Do you really have to treat her like this? You think waving around a divorce agreement will make me stop defending her? Dream on! Your mother’s death was her own fault. You’re not getting a single cent in compensation, and if you dare touch a hair on Brielle’s head, expect the worst!”
As I looked at him, the man who once vowed to stand for truth and justice, now shielding the very woman who killed his own mother, I felt a deep, hollow sorrow.
But forget it. If that was the kind of son he wanted to be, what right did I have to interfere?