"That's enough!" Clement glared at me, his face flushed with anger.
"This is about the money, isn't it? You're still mad I told you not to take a cut?"
"Let me make this clear. That's my family's money. I said we don't want it, and that's final!"
Every word I'd been swallowing all night came roaring out.
"I never once thought about taking money from your family! Not from the very beginning!"
"And even if I wanted to, do you really think your parents and your two brothers would let me?!"
His face went ashen. "Think whatever you want. Here's what's happening: the day after tomorrow, we go to my parents' house."
"And if you don't show up, we're getting a divorce."
The bedroom door slammed shut behind him so hard the walls shook.
I sat on the edge of the bed and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
My phone buzzed again. Mom.
[Meg, can you make it the day after tomorrow? Your dad went out today and bought that fish you love. He's keeping it alive in a basin for you.]
I stared at that message for a long time.
Then I opened the door and walked into the living room.
Clement was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone, his expression calm, as if nothing had happened.
"Fine. Tomorrow we go to the County Clerk's Office."
My voice came out so steady it surprised even me.
He looked up, stunned. Clearly he hadn't expected me to actually agree to a divorce.
I wasn't joking around with him anymore.
"From now on, you go your way and I'll go mine."
"You won't have to spend every day thinking I married above my station."
"Because you, Clement Chavez, never deserved me in the first place."
When I agreed to the divorce, the explosion of rage I'd braced for never came.
Clement just blinked, then nodded.
"Sure. Tomorrow at ten. County Clerk's Office."
He agreed too quickly. Unnervingly quickly.
He didn't even say another word. Just turned around and went back to watching TV.
I stood in the bedroom doorway, but in my heart, I already understood.
Looking back over the past few months, he really had changed.
The overtime had gotten more and more frequent. He came home later and later.
He'd changed his phone password. Started bringing it into the bathroom when he showered.
Every now and then I caught a whiff of perfume on his jacket, a brand that wasn't mine.
Every time I asked, he'd frown.
"Picked it up at a work dinner. Stop being paranoid."
And I'd actually believed him.