Chapter 2

"Okay, here' s how it' s going to work," Sarah said the next morning over breakfast. She had a notepad and a pen, as if she were planning a corporate takeover instead of the emotional manipulation of an old woman.

"Step one: we go to the courthouse tomorrow and file the papers. We need to do it fast, to show we' re serious."

She looked at me, expecting me to be taking notes as well. I just sipped my coffee.

"Step two: I pack my bags and move back to my mom' s. I' ll cry when I leave. You need to look sad, Mark. Devastated. Got it?"

"Devastated," I repeated, my voice flat.

"Step three: I' ll call your mom and tell her it' s over, that I can' t live with the disrespect anymore. I' ll mention the dowry, of course. That' s the key. She' ll feel personally responsible."

She scribbled furiously on the pad. "Step four: we wait. She' ll call you. You tell her you miss me, you can' t live without me. Then, she' ll call me, begging me to come back. That' s when I make my demands. Eight hundred and eighty thousand dollars in cash, and the twenty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace she wore to Uncle Robert' s wedding. And the jade pieces."

She looked up, her eyes gleaming. "Once the money is in my account and I have the jewelry box in my hands, we go out for a nice dinner and then we file to get remarried. We' ll be rich."

I let her finish, watching the whole sordid fantasy play out on her face. Then, I cleared my throat.

"There' s just one thing," I said carefully.

She frowned. "What?"

"If we want your mother to believe this, it has to be completely airtight. A quick filing might look suspicious. We need a proper, legally binding divorce decree. A separation agreement that divides our assets. Something that looks official and final. It' ll be more convincing."

I was banking on her greed clouding her judgment. I was right.

Her eyes lit up. "You' re right! That' s brilliant, Mark! Yes! It makes it look so much more real. She' ll see the official papers and know we' re not bluffing. She' ll have to pay up."

She didn't even question it. She didn't ask what would be in the agreement. She was so focused on the prize, the trap I was laying was completely invisible to her. The three-million-dollar bonus in my account gave me all the leverage I needed. I called a lawyer I knew, a shark who specialized in quick, clean cuts. We' d give Sarah the house-I could buy ten more-and a small settlement that would seem generous to her now, but paltry compared to what I was about to have. The key was the finality of the document.

The next day, we were at City Hall. The air was stale, the process impersonal and swift. I signed the papers without hesitation. My hand was steady. It felt like I was signing a declaration of independence.

Sarah signed with a flourish, a giddy smile on her face. She was an actress on a stage, playing a part for an audience of one: my mother.

She held up her copy of the finalized divorce decree like a trophy.

"Look at this!" she said, waving it in my face as we walked outside into the bright afternoon sun. "So official! Your mom won' t stand a chance."

That evening, she packed a single suitcase with her most expensive outfits. She believed she wouldn' t be gone for long.

"Don' t forget to be miserable," she whispered, giving me a quick, theatrical kiss on the cheek. "I' ll call you in a couple of days to see how much she' s offering."

She walked out the door, pulling her suitcase behind her, the wheels clicking on the pavement. She didn't look back.

I closed the door and leaned against it, the silence of the house washing over me. It wasn't a sad silence. It was peaceful. For the first time in fifteen years, my home was quiet.

I walked to the window and watched her car pull away from the curb and disappear around the corner. She was gone. And she was never coming back.