He scoffed, and I heard his mother in the sound.
“What did you expect, a five-star resort? Do you know how much that motel cost?”
My husband threw up his hands, exasperated. “Why do you have to be so dramatic?”
“Dramatic?
You forced me out of my own home because she,” I pointed at Lorraine, “threw a tantrum.”
Lorraine lifted her chin. I gestured to Jake. “And you followed them.”
He pressed his lips together.
“That’s how this works,” Lorraine said calmly. “I’m his mother. What I say goes.”
I turned to Jake.
“Is that right?”
He wouldn’t look at me. Then I reached into my purse. I pulled out an envelope and held it out to him.
He stared at it like it might bite him. Lorraine snatched the envelope before he could move, and before I could answer. She tore it open, scanned the top page, and stiffened.
Her face went pale, then redder than a firetruck. “Divorce? This is ridiculous!” Lorraine tossed the envelope aside.
“You can’t just walk away.”
My husband picked up the divorce papers. He sank into the chair as he read them. He finally looked me in the eye.
“You’re really doing this?”
I nodded. “I learned exactly where I stand when you not only asked me to leave, but expected me to stay in a crummy motel. You might not think I’m worth more than that, but I do.”
Then I walked out.
The door closed behind me, and I heard nothing from inside. No protests, no apologies, and nobody running after me. That silence confirmed every decision I’d made in that motel room.
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