Divorced During Our Son's Exam My Ex-Husband's Public Ruin

It was pouring the morning of my son's college entrance examrain coming down so hard the streets ran like rivers.

Jeffrey Delgado and I had agreed to take him to the exam site together.

But right as we were about to leave, Jeffrey took a phone call, said there was an emergency surgery at the hospital, and walked out without looking back.

So I drove my son there alone on the electric scooter, the two of us fighting through the downpour.

After I got him inside, I stood under an eave, soaked head to toe.

I took out my phone to let Jeffrey know we'd made it safely.

Instead, I saw a photo on my social feed, posted by his first love, Monica Fox.

In the photo, Jeffrey was wearing an expensive tailored suit.

He held a large black umbrella, most of it angled over Monica and her daughter.

His own shoulder was completely drenched on one side.

He was carefully escorting Monica's daughter into a different exam site.

The caption read *Thank you for being the father she needed at the moment that mattered most.*

I stared at that photo for a long time.

Rain kept landing on the screen, blurring Jeffrey's gentle profile until I could barely make it out.

I tapped "like," turned off my phone.

Just last night I'd been thinkingonce our son got into college, we could finally have time for ourselves again.

Now it looked like the moment his last exam ended, we could head straight to the county clerk's office.

Ten o'clock that night. Our son was already asleep.

Jeffrey pushed the door open and walked in.

He reached into his pocket and held something out to me.

Here. Passed by a temple on the way and picked this up.

Clip it on his backpack for good luck.

It was a herbal sachet, crudely made.

The red fabric was rough and pilling, the gold-thread characters stitched on crooked.

And the real giveaway: printed across the back in bold letters were the words Crestview High School Exam Site Souvenir.

My son's exam was at Central High School.

Crestview High School was the exam site for Monica Fox's daughter, Marjorie Fox.

So much for passed by a temple on the way.

I took the sachet, tossed it in a clean arc, and landed it right in the trash can beside me.

Jeffrey's face went cold.

What the hell is your problem, Wendy Harding?

I got that to bless our son and you're losing it on me?

He jabbed a finger toward the sachet in the trash.

Pick it up.

I stayed where I was on the floor, tilted my head up, and looked at him.

Jeffrey, do you even look at what you buy?

Your son has been deathly allergic to mugwort since he was a baby. One touch and he breaks out head to toe.

And you want him to clip a sachet stuffed with mugwort onto his backpack?

Are you trying to send him into the exam tomorrow, or the emergency room?

Jeffrey's expression locked up.

He'd clearly forgotten about the allergy a long time ago.

To cover the guilt, his voice jumped an octave.

Oh, give me a break!

It's one sachethow much mugwort could there even be?

You're the one with the problem, losing your mind at home all day.

I come home exhausted and I still have to deal with your face? Worst luck of my life.

He kept going as he yanked off his tie and stalked toward the bedroom.

I didn't argue. I didn't fight back.

I turned, walked into the spare room, and locked the door behind me.

From the other side came the sound of Jeffrey kicking the door, followed by a string of ugly words.

I lay on the narrow bed and pulled the blanket over my head.

The last spark inside me went out for good.

The morning of the second exam day.

When I stepped out of the spare room, the smell of fried eggs was actually drifting from the kitchen.

Jeffrey had gotten up early for once in his life.

He stood there in an apron, setting three plates of surprisingly decent-looking breakfast on the table.

He saw me come out and forced a placating smile onto his face.

Wendy, I wasn't myself last night. Too tiredI let my temper get the better of me.

Go wake up our son for breakfast.

Ethan came out after washing up, backpack slung over one shoulder, and sat down at the table.

He kept his head down over his congee and didn't give Jeffrey so much as a glance.

Jeffrey rubbed his hands together, visibly awkward.

Son, eat up.

I'm absolutely not working overtime today. I'll drive you to the exam site myself.

It's still raining out there. You'll be more comfortable in my car.

He thumped his chest, all confidence and guarantees.

Ethan's chopsticks paused for a beat. He still said nothing.

Jeffrey finished the last bite of his fried egg and went to the entryway for the car keys.

Let's go. It's about time.

The second his hand touched the keys,

his phone rang right on cue from his pocket.

One look at the screen and his whole expression tightened.

The call connected, and Monica Fox's tear-choked voice carried through the quiet living room with perfect clarity.

Jeffrey, Marjorie's falling apart.

She's so anxious her stomach is cramping. She keeps throwing up and crying, saying she's too scared to go take the exam.

I can't handle her on my own. Can you please come help?

She always listens to you the most.

Jeffrey's hand clenched tight around the phone.

He turned and glanced at me and Ethan, eyes shifting, unable to hold either of our gazes.

Monica, hey, don't panicget Marjorie some warm water, I'm on my way

He caught himself halfway through the sentence and swallowed the rest.

He set the car keys down and walked back to the table.

Wendy, something urgent came up at the department.

A patient's family is causing a scene. I need to get over there and handle it.

Sorry to trouble you, but could you take him again?

I set my glass of milk down and stared straight at him.

Is it a patient's family causing a scene, or is it Monica Fox's daughter with stomach cramps?

Jeffrey's expression froze solid on his face.

His mouth opened and closed. It took him a long time to squeeze out a single sentence.

You heard the whole thing. What do you want me to say?

That kid Marjorie can't handle pressure. I'm a doctor. What am I supposed to do, just stand by and watch?

I have a duty to help. Can you stop being so selfish about this?

The words a duty to help almost made me laugh out loud.

The memory hit before I could stop itEthan, the night before his high school entrance exam.

He'd spiked a fever out of nowhere, temperature shooting past a hundred and four, his face burning red and his whole body shaking.

I was out of my mind with panic, calling Jeffrey over and over.

I needed him to drive us to the hospital.

He didn't pick up once.

I called thirteen times.

When the last call finally connected, the background noise was the hum of equipment in a dental clinic.

Monica's sugary voice drifted through the line: Jeffrey's with Marjorie at the dentistshe's getting a tooth pulled and she's so scared she won't let go of his hand.

That night, I carried my son on my back, a boy already taller than me, and stood on the street trying to flag down a taxi for half an hour.

Ethan nearly missed his high school entrance examthe fever had seized his whole body and wouldn't let go.

Afterward, Jeffrey knelt in the hospital corridor.

He slapped himself across the face, both sides, hard, more than a dozen times.

Wendy, I was wrong. I swear I didn't know he was that sick.

I promise, no matter what happens from now on, our son comes first. Always.

If I ever break my word again, let God strike me down.

Those vows were still ringing in my ears.

And now, he had broken his word again.

For Monica Fox's daughter and a stomach cramp, he walked out on his own son minutes before the college entrance exam.

I snapped back. Looked at the cold breakfast on the table.

I stood up and took the rain gear out of the closet.

Put your rain coat on. We're going.

My son nodded, pulled it on, and followed me out.

I got on the electric scooter and rode straight into the wind and rain, out of the complex.

This time, I didn't look back. Not once.

The afternoon of the second day of the college entrance exam.

While my son was still in the exam hall, I went home.

I found a few oversized plastic sacks.

Every designer dress in my closet, every brand-name purse, every piece of jewelry worth anything in the box.

I packed it all up and shipped it to my mother's old house in the countryside.

On the way back from the courier station, I checked the GPS on a whim.

Then I turned off-route and headed for Crestview High School.

That was the exam site for Monica Fox's daughter.

The test still had half an hour left, but the school gate was already packed with parents waiting to pick up their kids.

One thing, though, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Parked across the street was a massive luxury RV, impossible to miss.

A huge red banner hung across the side.

Gold-foil lettering readWishing Marjorie Fox top honors and a brilliant future.

Flowers and balloons were arranged all around the vehicle.

The parents nearby were whispering among themselves.

That family's got money. Look at this whole production.

I heard it's the girl's stepfather who arranged all of it. He's so good to those two.

Even a real father might not go this far. That mother is one lucky woman.

Jeffrey was standing right beside the RV.

He was holding a steaming cup of milk tea, which he handed to Monica with obvious tenderness.

She took it with a coy smile and leaned against his shoulder.

He didn't pull away. Instead, his arm went around her waist.

They looked at each other and smiledfor all the world, a loving married couple.

I took out my phone and opened the camera.

Zoomed in. Framed them pressed together, body to body.

Took over a dozen high-definition shots.

Then I tapped into the album and backed every single one up to the cloud.

Before, if I'd seen something like this, I would have stormed over, demanded answers, screamed and sobbed until I couldn't breathe.

But now there was nothing inside me. Not a single ripple.

I put my phone away and left.

That evening, I ordered my son his favorite pizza.

Then I told him I was running to the store for some toiletries and headed downstairs.

I went straight to the open-air barbecue stall outside the complex.

Chloe Bennett was already there waiting for me.

The table was loaded with skewers and a row of ice-cold beers.

I sat down, cracked a bottle open, and tipped it back, draining nearly half in one go.

You're really going through with it? Chloe handed me a skewer and asked quietly.

Yeah. Already shipped everything out. I bit into the meat. It tasted incredible.

Does Jeffrey know?

He still thinks he can have the loyal wife at home and the woman on the side. Living the dream. I let out a cold laugh.

Chloe sighed and clinked her glass against mine.

Honestly, good riddance. These last few years have been suffocating for you.

So what's the plan after?

I swallowed the meat, chased it with another mouthful of beer.

No plan.

I just want to take my son and get as far from that piece of garbage as possible.

I drank three beers that night.

The buzz was just right.

No pain. Just my whole body loose, and the feeling that a new life was already on its way.

The morning of the third day of the exam.

I was carrying a few fried dough sticks and two cups of soy milk, strolling through the complex at an easy pace.

I'd barely reached the base of the building when I ran right into Jeffrey coming the other way.

He was still in yesterday's dress shirt, the fabric creased all over.

Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. He clearly hadn't come home last night.

He spotted the breakfast bags in my hands and frowned.

Where were you last night?

He stepped closer, caught the faint smell of alcohol on me.

You were drinking?

His voice shot up instantly.

Wendy, our son has his last exam today, and you went out drinking?

Do you even care about his future?

What if you'd been too hungover to get up and he missed the exam?

I looked at that shameless, finger-pointing face of his.

I had a few beers. And I was up at six buying breakfast.

Still better than someone who stayed out all night and couldn't even face his own son this morning.

That landed. His mouth opened, closed. Color flooded his face.

Last night I wasthe hospital had an emergency. I couldn't leave.

I didn't bother responding. I walked right past him into the elevator.

He hurried to catch up.

The moment we opened the front door, Jeffrey froze.

His hand stopped midway through changing shoes, eyes locked on the living room wall.

The oversized family portrait that used to hang there was gone.

He whipped around toward the balcony. All the plants I usually kept out there were gone too.

He strode into the bedroom and yanked open the closet.

Nearly empty. Just a few pieces of in-season clothing left to rotate through.

Where did everything go? He turned around, something close to panic flickering in his eyes.

I poked a straw into a carton of soy milk and handed it to our son, who had just gotten out of bed.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Once the exam's over, we're starting fresh somewhere else. No point keeping useless stuff around.

I waved it off like nothing.

His shoulders dropped. He pitched his voice louder, overcompensating.

Right, once our boy's done, we'll move somewhere bigger.

And hey, he's gonna be wiped out after all this.

I'll take some vacation daystake all of you overseas. The whole family. How's that sound?

He strolled over to the table and bit into a fried dough stick.

Switzerland. The one you've always wanted.

I let him finish the act. Then I reached into my bag and pulled out a document I'd had ready for days.

We can talk about the trip later.

Sign this first.

I slid the papers in front of him and set a pen down beside them.

Jeffrey glanced at the thick, bound document.

What is this?

A joint international study program our son's interested in.

The school requires parental consent forms and proof of assets.

I lied without a flicker of expression.

Jeffrey started to flip it open and read.

I cut in immediately.

Deadline's today. Has to be submitted right after the last exam this afternoon.

If you don't have time to go through it, forget it. I'll just tell him to drop the whole thing.

The moment he heard that, Jeffrey pulled his hand back from the page.

Anything to perform fatherly devotion in front of his son.

He grabbed the pen, flipped straight to the last page.

And signed Jeffrey Delgado in a bold, sweeping hand.

My son's future comes first. Of course I'm going to support it.

He pushed the document back across the table with a satisfied look.

I picked it up and checked his signature carefully.

Once I was sure everything was in order, I slipped the papers back into my bag with care.

Thanks for the support. I smiled at him.

Five o'clock that afternoon, the bell for the final exam rang out.

I was waiting at the back gate of the exam hall when my son came through with the crowd.

He had a relaxed smile on his face.

How'd it go? I stepped forward and took his backpack.

Solid. No issues. He gave a confident little raise of his brows.

Good. Then let's go.

We flagged down a taxi and headed straight for the train station.

Eight o'clock that evening.

Jeffrey Delgado pushed open the front door, carrying an expensive cake.

Honey, Ethan, I got your favorites

His voice echoed through the empty living room.

No response.

He set the cake down, confused, and walked into the bedroom.

The bed was stripped bare. Every personal belonging was gone.

It finally hit him that something was wrong.

He rushed back to the living room and saw a document sitting on the dining table.

The very one he'd signed that morning in his own hand.

His hands trembled as he flipped to the first page.

Across the top, in heavy bold printDIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Jeffrey Delgado panicked completely.