Divorced, Betrayed, and Ready to Ruin Them

1: 1

I sprained my ankle while we were out shopping. My brother cut his finger.

When Nellie Winfield got there, she went to him first.

I sat in a chair by the pharmacy door and watched her crouch on the floor, cradling my brother's hand while she dabbed on iodine.

Does it hurt? How were you so careless?

My ankle was swollen too much to fit my shoe.

Ten minutes later she came over and handed me a bottle of water.

"I'll take your brother home first. That cut needs a dressing or it could get infected. Wait here ten minutes and I'll come right back for you."

I waited forty.

A message popped up from Charlie:

"Chris! Nellie's coming to get you right now!"

"Is your foot okay? I feel so bad for you."

"Nellie is such a good person. You're so lucky."

I looked at those three messages and let out a small laugh.

When I was little, if it rained, Dad's umbrella always went to him first.

The year of his placement exams, he couldn't sleep, so Mom made me give up my single room.

Every time he'd say, Chris, I feel so guilty.

But after the guilt, he never once gave anything back.

Nellie finally arrived.

"Come on, let's get you home and ice it."

I didn't move.

"Nellie, I don't want to wait out your ten minutes."

""

She stared at me for a few seconds, then reached out to help me up.

"When you've finished acting out, we're going home. Your foot needs ice."

I dodged her hand and pulled myself up against the pharmacy's glass door.

The moment my right foot touched down, a stabbing pain shot up from my ankle. I gripped the door frame, cold sweat breaking across my forehead.

Nellie frowned and stepped forward to steady me.

Then her phone rang.

Charlie's voice came through, close to tears. "Nellie, I think my hand's bleeding again. Can you come take a look?"

Nellie's hand stopped in midair.

She gripped the phone, brow creasing slightly. "I have to go back. Charlie's blood doesn't clot well, this isn't just an ordinary cut. You know his body's different. There's no need to make an issue out of something like this."

"I'm not making an issue of it."

I opened the ride app, my voice level. "Go."

Nellie didn't leave right away.

She seemed thrown by how calm I was, staring at me for a moment before she said quietly, "A minute ago you said you didn't want to wait, and now you're telling me to go. Christopher Matthews, what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Suit yourself."

A cab pulled up at the curb, and I made my way toward it slowly, one hand on the wall.

Nellie took two steps after me. Then Charlie called again.

Her feet stopped. In the end she turned, walked to the car parked at the curb, and drove off.

Half an hour later, the doctor finished reading the scans and told me to keep it immobilized for at least three weeks.

"Where's your family?"

"There isn't any."

The doctor looked up at me. "A torn ligament is no small thing. Stairs will be hard on your own. You should let someone at home know."

Before I could answer, a voice message from my mother came through.

"Chris, did you get into it with Nellie again? Charlie called me. He said she was only a few minutes late because he got hurt. Your brother isn't well. What's the harm in giving in to him?"

Then a message from my father.

"Charlie's birthday dinner is tomorrow night. Don't sit there sulking. He just came out of a relationship and can't handle being upset."

I turned the phone off.

When I got home in the cast, the living room light was on.

Nellie was sitting on the couch, a plate of food gone cold in front of her.

She saw the cast and shot to her feet. "How did you hurt it this badly?"

I moved toward the bedroom on my crutches. "Torn ligament."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"You were taking care of Charlie."

She grabbed hold of a crutch and lowered her voice. "I went back the second his hand was dressed. The people at the pharmacy said you'd already left. Christopher, I looked for you for two hours."

"So?"

"Am I supposed to be moved that you looked for me?"

The guilt faded from her face, replaced by that familiar helplessness.

"You're too hostile toward Charlie. He's your brother. We're all going to be one family, and you can't keep forcing me to choose."

"I won't anymore."

I pulled the crutch back and kept walking.

Nellie wrapped her arms around me from behind, holding on tight.

"After the birthday dinner tomorrow, I'll take you to the follow-up. I got the ring back too. I was going to put it on you again at the party."

Three years ago, on our wedding day, the ring she gave me was a full size too big.

I wore it for three years. It slipped off seven times.

"No need."

Her phone lit up on the table.

Charlie had sent a photo.

On that freshly bandaged hand was the wedding ring that should have been mine.

2: 2

Charlie says he was only trying it on. He'll give it back tomorrow.

Nellie put her phone away, not a flicker of panic on her face.

After the ring was resized, he was just checking the fit for you. Your fingers are about the same. I didn't think he'd take a photo.

I looked at her. It's my wedding ring. Why would he need to try it on?

The clerk delivered it to the mall after you'd already left. Charlie helped out, that's all.

And putting it on his ring finger, that was helping out too?

Nellie was quiet for two seconds, then lifted a hand and rubbed at her brow.

I'll have him return it to you tomorrow. Don't wreck a relationship over one object.

Same as always.

When Charles took my room, my sneakers, my college spot, our parents said the same thing. It's just one thing.

None of those things ever came back.

The next evening, Nellie laid a dark green designer suit on the edge of the bed.

Mom wants you and Charlie both in green, like when you were little.

I glanced at the tag. This is his size.

A suit can be altered. You're thin. You can wear it even this snug.

She picked up the tie for me, her voice so gentle it was as if she were humoring me. It's the birthday dinner tonight. Don't put your parents in an awkward spot.

I didn't change.

When we reached the hotel, Charles was standing at the door in that dark green suit, and he came jogging over to me, grinning.

The white gauze was already off his hand, only a faint pink line left on his fingertip, and my wedding ring was still there on his ring finger.

Chris, how did your foot get so bad? It's all my fault, I made Nellie come back late.

He crouched down to touch my cast, but Nellie caught his shoulder first.

Don't crouch. Your blood sugar's low.

Charles used the moment to stand beside her, lifting his hand to explain. I forgot to take the ring off, that's all. You're not angry, are you?

My mother came over and pressed his hand down.

Leave it on. Give it back after dinner. Your brother's been married three years. A few more hours won't hurt.

I looked at Nellie.

She avoided my eyes and pulled out a chair for me. Sit down first.

During the meal, my father had a waiter bring over a document folder.

Since Charlie's back, he'll go to Nellie's company as design director. Chris, hand him the Cloudperch project you're running. Brothers help each other out.

Cloudperch was a project I'd ground through two years to win.

The first draft was rejected nineteen times. For three straight months I slept four hours a night before the client finally signed.

I gripped my glass. He studied acting. He doesn't know the first thing about architecture.

Charles's eyes went red on the spot.

Dad, I told you I didn't want it. Chris put so much into this project. I can't take what's his.

My father's face darkened. Take? He puts his name on it as lead architect. Nobody said you stop doing the work.

My mother pressed me too. Charlie's only been home three months. He needs something impressive to his name. You've already married so well. You don't have to win at everything.

I looked at Nellie. Is that what you think too?

She set her chopsticks down, unhurried.

Your foot's hurt. You need rest. Charlie fronts it for now. The actual work is still yours, and I'll pay you the bonus the same as always.

He gets the credit, and I do the work?

It's just one line of a name.

Then why can't the name be mine?

The room went quiet.

Charles clutched his chest, his face going white by degrees. Chris, don't be angry, I'll give the project back to you.

He stood too fast and his body swayed.

Nellie caught him at once.

My mother shoved away the crutch I had propped beside me. Do you have to keep pushing him?

I lost my balance and dropped hard back into the chair, my injured right foot knocking against the table leg, the pain so sharp everything went black for a second.

Nellie steadied Charles, and when she turned and saw me, something hesitant crossed her eyes.

Charles gripped her sleeve. Nellie, I can't breathe.

She took his arm and hurried him toward the door.

As she passed me, she left only one line behind. I'm taking him to the hospital. Stop provoking him.

My father pushed the document across the table to me.

Sign.

I picked up the pen.

My mother's face finally softened. That's more like it. You're the older brother. A little sense never hurt anyone.

I signed my name on the last page of the transfer agreement, but I didn't hand it to my father.

Instead I turned to the appendix and added a date after the credit-authorization deadline.

Seven days.

Seven days from now was the day Winfield Corp signed the formal contract with the client.

It was also the day I'd hand in my resignation.

My mother reached out to take it. I closed the folder.

Just then, the phone Charles had left on his seat lit up, a hospital reminder popping onto the screen.

Reminder: first-trimester blood hCG and progesterone follow-up.

3: 3

My mother grabbed the phone first.

"You misread it."

She looked flustered and shoved it into her bag without even shutting off the screen.

I stared at her. "Nellie's pregnant?"

My father rapped his chopsticks hard against the rim of his bowl. "Nellie's stomach's been off lately, she went in for some bloodwork, that's all. Stop chasing after it and asking nonsense."

"Then why did the notice go to Charles's phone?"

"It's got nothing to do with you."

The birthday dinner broke up in a hurry.

My parents didn't trust me on my own, so they insisted on hauling me back to the Matthews estate with them.

I sat on the living room sofa for two hours, my ankle swollen and throbbing until it went half numb.

At eleven at night, the front door finally opened.

Nellie walked in, her trench coat rumpled, the cuffs carrying the smell of hospital disinfectant.

Charles trailed behind her, held up by his assistant, his face still pale.

When she saw me sitting in the living room, Nellie's steps stalled.

I ignored the warning look from my parents and asked her straight out. "You're pregnant?"

She was silent for two seconds. She didn't deny it.

"Yes."

"It wasn't confirmed yet. I was afraid you'd read too much into it, so I didn't tell you."

"Afraid I'd read too much into it, or afraid I'd find out?"

Charles saw the mood turn and his eyes went red at once.

"Chris, whatever's wrong, it's all my fault. It's the middle of the night, please don't fight with Nellie over me"

Nellie said nothing.

I took out the project file. "I can hand off Cloudperch for seven days. But starting today, stop using Nellie to push me around over anything to do with Charles."

My father sneered. "What gives you the right to make decisions for Nellie?"

"The fact that I'm her husband."

My mother spoke up suddenly. "Chris, Nellie's carrying a baby. Having an extra person around to look after her makes things easier, and Charlie's family. Don't be so petty."

I looked around the room at all of them, and it came to me that they'd worked this out long ago.

I was just the last to know.

Nellie took hold of my wrist. "Let's go home first."

On the way back, she drove herself, and Charles sat in the back seat.

Passing a baby store, he suddenly had the driver pull over.

"We still don't know if the baby can be kept. I only want to have a look, I won't buy anything."

Nellie checked the time. "Ten minutes."

I sat in the car, my ankle throbbing in waves.

Twenty minutes later, they still hadn't come out.

I went in on my crutches and saw Nellie holding a pair of pale yellow baby shoes.

Charles stood beside her, smiling. "You said before, a daughter should wear yellow, like the sun."

She had said that line once. To me.

Two years ago, when she was pregnant, she'd picked out a pair of yellow shoes, glowing with happiness, saying our daughter was sure to be like the sun.

Then came the car accident. I lost the ability to have children saving her, and the baby didn't make it either.

She packed away every last piece of the baby's things and never brought it up again.

I thought she was afraid of hurting me.

It turned out she had simply handed that hope, whole and untouched, to another man.

Nellie turned her head, saw me, and hurried over. "How did you get in here?"

"My foot hurts."

She bent to check the cast. "I'll take you to the hospital."

But Charles came over with the baby shoes. "Don't get the wrong idea, Chris. I just picked these out. Nellie only said they looked nice."

Nellie moved to block my view of him. "Charlie didn't mean anything by it. Don't make a scene in front of everyone."

I raised my hand and slapped her.

The store went silent in an instant.

Nellie turned her face aside, and only after a long moment did she look back at me.

"Feel better now?"

"No."

I reached for the shoes, and Charles instinctively flinched back.

In the tug of it, a prenatal report slipped to the floor.

In the line for the father's name, two words were written, clear as day.

Charles Matthews.

4: 4

I bent to pick up the prenatal report.

Nellie was faster, closing it in her fist.

"We'll talk at home."

I braced myself against the shelf. "We'll talk here."

Charles shook his head, his eyes red. "Chris, it's not what you think."

"The hospital made a mistake. I went with Nellie to register the file, and the nurse assumed I was the father."

I kept my eyes on Nellie. "You tell me."

She was quiet for a long time.

Long enough for the clerk to quietly cut the music, long enough that my foot had gone numb with pain.

"The baby might be Charles's."

She finally spoke.

"The night before Charles came back home, he got drunk. I went to pick him up. I don't remember clearly what happened the next day."

No denial. No explanation.

One "I don't remember" pushed three years of our marriage to the edge of a cliff.

I asked, "What do you plan to do?"

"Wait until the baby's born, then run a paternity test."

"And if it's his?"

Nellie pressed her lips together on reflex. "I'll handle it."

I laughed. "Handle it how?"

Charles cut in, crying. "I won't take Nellie from you. Once the baby's born I can leave with the baby. Chris, don't blame her, I was the one who got drunk."

"Shut up."

It was the first time I'd cut him off in front of everyone.

He froze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes, like he'd been wronged beyond measure.

Nellie moved him behind her. "It's my fault. Don't take it out on him."

I watched the gesture, and suddenly even my anger felt like too much.

Back home, Nellie helped me upstairs.

She undid the loosened brace for me, then brought an ice pack and laid it against my ankle.

Her hands were still as practiced as ever.

"I'll get to the bottom of the baby thing."

"Where's the ring?"

Her fingertips stopped. "What?"

"My wedding ring."

Nellie took the ring out of her coat and set it on the nightstand.

An extra little star had been engraved inside the band.

Charles's nickname was Star.

I flicked it with a fingertip, and the ring rolled to the edge of the carpet.

"You didn't take it to be resized. You took it to be engraved."

"He said he needed something to hold on to before the paternity results came back. I didn't notice the clerk gave me the wrong ring."

I closed my eyes. "Get out."

"Christopher, it really was an accident with him."

"Get out."

She stood there a long while, and in the end she closed the door for me.

The next day was the annual charity gala the Matthewses hosted.

I hadn't planned to go, but my mother came to the door herself and took my crutch.

"The media and the family elders will all be there tonight. If you don't show, what will people say about Charles?"

"He's tangled up with my wife, even got her pregnant, and you're worried what people will say about him?"

Scarlett's face darkened. "Nellie had too much to drink that night, and Charles wasn't clearheaded either. One is your wife, one is your brother. Won't you be satisfied until you've driven them both to their deaths?"

I pushed up off the edge of the bed to stand. "So I'm the one who deserves to die?"

She looked away. "That's not what I'm saying."

Before the gala began, Nellie came to get me.

She'd brought a looser pair of men's shoes, crouched down and put them on for me, then set the crutch by my hand.

"Tonight Dad's going to announce Charles is taking over Cloudperch. Don't make a scene there. Once I've had the baby and done the test, I'll give the project back to you."

"And me? After the baby's born, what am I?"

Nellie's grip on my ankle tightened without her meaning it to.

"You're still Mr. Winfield. If the baby's Charles's, we'll raise it together. He can call you Dad."

I looked at her for a long time.

"Nellie, you really are cruel."

Halfway through the gala, my father called Charles up onto the stage.

The big screen lit up with the Cloudperch renderings, the credit line already changed to Charles's name.

Amid the guests' applause, Charles thanked me with red eyes. "The person I owe the most for this project is my brother. He made it possible for me."

Right after, my father took the microphone again.

"There's one more happy occasion today. Nellie is pregnant. The father is Charles."

The whole room broke into an uproar.

I looked at the seat beside me.

At some point Nellie had already gone up onstage, shielding a pale-faced Charles from the cameras.

My mother sat down next to me with a document in hand.

"You and Nellie get divorced first. After the baby's born and the test is done, if it isn't Charles's, the two of you remarry."

"And if it is?"

"A child can't grow up without a whole family."

She pushed the pen into my hand, her voice low. "You'll have a hard time having children of your own, and Charles is the baby's father. Nellie's willing to let the child call you Dad. She's already looking out for you."

Onstage, the host mistook them for an engaged couple.

Nellie didn't correct him.

She only looked at me across the crowd, her eyes calm, as if certain I'd give in in the end.

I opened the divorce agreement.

The house, the savings, the shares. Not one of them was mine.

The additional clauses said that after the divorce I could still live in the Winfield home, responsible for caring for the pregnant Nellie and the child.

So it turned out they'd even parceled out the rest of my life.

I didn't cry. I didn't demand answers.

I signed my name on the last page and slid the other document, long since prepared, across to my mother along with it.

The moment she read the title, the color drained from her face.