Chapter 3Eight Swiss Rolls

My phone rang, stopped, and rang again. My nail technician couldn’t help but ask, “Ma’am, is someone trying to reach you?” I flipped my phone to silent, waving her on. “Unimportant people.”

That night, I didn't go home. I found a five-star hotel and thoroughly enjoyed a night of luxury. At eight sharp, I arrived at the courthouse. Father and son stumbled in late, hair messy, still in their pajamas. My son, like his father’s little bodyguard, immediately began to scold me. “Mom, are you done with your nonsense? You’re divorcing Dad just over a few Swiss rolls? Are you out of your mind?!”

I gave him a cold look, then slapped him hard across the face. It was my first time hitting him, so he was stunned. I slapped him again. He finally reacted, roaring with rage, raising his fist to hit me. Leo stopped him. He was always good at playing the nice guy, mediating. Every time our son did something wrong and I tried to discipline him, Leo would step in to be the hero. It’s no wonder my son and I had become so antagonistic; Leo had played a significant role in escalating things behind the scenes.

Sure enough, he smiled and said, “Honey, Jay just spoke out of turn. But it’s true, divorcing me over eight Swiss rolls? It wouldn’t look good for your reputation.” More useless platitudes. I rolled my eyes, curtly saying, “Leo, cut the crap. If you’re a man, come in and get divorced with me!” I waved my hand, adorned with new nail polish and sparkling rings, and slapped a crisp ten-dollar bill on the table. “Divorce. My treat!”