"You're hooked on that gaming café, huh? Maybe your dad can hook you up with a PC at home."
"From here on out, do whatever you like. I'm stepping back."
"And about those parent-teacher meetings—you think I embarrass you, right? Let your dad handle them."
"I'm officially out of your business. Got an issue? Go ask your wonderful dad."
Shocked by my words, she asked again in disbelief, "Are you serious?"
I just nodded, confirming I wasn't messing around.
A grin spread across her face, too gleeful, too bright.
She pressed her advantage, seeing how far she could go.
"I'm done with dance classes. That old witch just nags and tattles."
Years of dance, yet she still half-assed basic stretches without a teacher's help, clueless of the effort behind their strictness.
"Sure, as of today, consider yourself unenrolled."
My laid-back response left her incredulous as she probed further, "Tomorrow after school, I'm hitting the gaming café with Jake, might be back late."
I simply nodded, showing it was no issue.
"Fine by me. Maybe your dad can buy you both a computer; bring your boyfriend over, I won't mind."
Encouraged, she threw out a list of usually unreasonable demands, to which I nonchalantly nodded. I heard her, but whether I'd act was another story.
Surprised by her newfound freedom, she cautiously moved towards her room, noticing I didn't scold her to practice like before. Satisfied, she dove into her gaming session.
With no time to fuss over her, I turned my attention to finding a good rehab center; years without dancing had taken their toll.
After setting everything up, I met with a lawyer in a plush restaurant to talk divorce—it had been too long since I'd dined out properly.
Returning home full and with divorce papers in hand, I was greeted by the usual chaos of the living room and Caitlyn's loud complaints about her video game.
"Come on! You moron! Don't you know how to play?!"
My entry startled her, and she snapped in her usual demanding tone, "Get me a glass of water."
I acted as if I hadn't heard, plotting my next steps for recovery.
Gazing at my rehab plan, a newfound resolve sprouted within me. Fetching water was a maid's job, not mine. I'm her mom.
My disregard infuriated her. She slammed her half-eaten chicken on the table and lashed out,
"You cripple! What, you can't hear now either?!"
"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?!"