See You at the Courthouse

"Yeah, I'm serious about it." Beatrice kept her voice flat and devoid of the emotional hysteria Richard was clearly expecting.

Years of enduring Sylvia's relentless bickering and navigating the exhausting maze of Vance family drama had worn her down to a hardened core. Even in the face of her husband's horrific betrayal, she maintained a quiet, unbreakable composure. She turned her back on him, pulled the freshly baked pumpkin cake from the cooling rack, and transferred it onto a porcelain plate. Next, she ladled a generous serving of the bubbling meatball stew into a bowl.

Instead of packing the meal into the familiar insulated carrier, Beatrice carried the food over to the small kitchen table. She pulled out a chair, sat down, and picked up her fork. She took a deliberate bite of the warm pumpkin cake, letting the sweet flavor settle on her tongue. It was delicious. For decades, she had sacrificed her own comfort, routinely giving the best portions and the finest meals to an ungrateful mother-in-law who despised her. A strange, liberating peace washed over her chest as she swallowed the food.

Richard watched her dig in. His face contorted with sudden frustration, his chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. "Isn't this for my mom? Why are you eating it?"

Beatrice looked up from her plate. A slow smirk touched the corners of her lips. "We're getting a divorce, and you expect me to keep cooking for your mother? Am I out of my mind?"

"Fine. Do whatever you want." Richard glared at her, his jaw clenching tight.

He refused to argue further, retreating to his favorite, manipulative tactic. He wielded the silent treatment like a blunt instrument, assuming it would crush her rebellious spirit just as it always had. In the past, his cold shoulder would send her into a panic, forcing her to apologize and smooth things over. He stormed around the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing against the tile floor. He flung open the upper cabinets, his eyes darting across the empty shelves. He checked the stovetop and the counter, searching for any sign that she had prepared his usual morning meal.

Finding nothing but empty pots, Richard slammed the cabinet door shut. He grabbed his tailored wool coat from the rack, his posture radiating arrogant dismissal. He was convinced she was merely throwing a childish tantrum. In his mind, she was bound to crawl back and beg for his forgiveness by the end of the day.

"See you at the courthouse at exactly nine o'clock," Beatrice called out calmly.

Richard did not bother to look back. He marched out of the apartment and slammed the heavy front door behind him, using the sheer force of the impact to vent his boiling anger.

Later that morning, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled a private room at the Vitality Center. Richard stepped through the doorway and set a plastic container of store-bought meatball stew on the bedside table. He popped the lid off, hoping to pass the cheap restaurant food off as Beatrice's cooking.

Sylvia sat up in her hospital bed. She took one small bite of the lukewarm stew and immediately spat it back into a tissue with a loud sound of disgust.

"This is unacceptable. She didn't put any effort into this meal at all. She is just half-assing her duties now," Sylvia complained, tossing the tissue into the trash bin. "Richard, you need to get tough with her. Cut her meager living allowance right now. You need to starve her into submission so she remembers her place in our family."

Richard pulled a cigarette from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers, his expression darkening with annoyance. "She cannot survive without me. I am not giving her a real divorce. And honestly, Mom, you are the one truly to blame for Arthur going missing twenty years ago, not Beatrice. You need to stop punishing her for your mistake."

Sylvia's face flushed a deep, mottled red. The mention of the dark family secret cornered her instantly. Knowing she had no logical defense, she launched straight into a dramatic, well-rehearsed fake suicide attempt.

"I lost him, and what do you want me to do? Will killing myself make you feel better?" Sylvia wailed, her voice echoing shrilly down the hallway. "Fine! I am better off dead anyway. I am just a burden to you both!"

She thrashed wildly against the crisp white sheets, kicking her legs and throwing her upper body toward the edge of the mattress. She dangled her arms over the side, pretending she was going to hurl herself onto the hard linoleum floor.

Richard dropped his unlit cigarette and rushed forward. He grabbed her by the shoulders, catching her weight before she could slide any further.

"Mom, that is not what I meant. Please, do not get upset. Stay calm," Richard urged, struggling to hold her steady as she continued to sob and thrash in his grip.

It took several exhausting minutes of soothing promises to pacify her. Sylvia finally settled back against her pillows, dabbing at her dry eyes with a fresh tissue. Just as Richard let out a heavy sigh of relief, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Beatrice's name flashing on the screen. A smug, self-satisfied smile spread across his face. He answered the call, fully expecting to hear a tearful, desperate apology on the other end of the line.

"I'm already at the courthouse. Where are you?" Beatrice asked.

She stood firmly at the bottom of the imposing stone steps outside the legal building. The morning wind whipped around her ankles, but she kept her posture rigid, her eyes scanning the busy street for his familiar car.

Richard's smug expression vanished, replaced by deep, defensive frustration. The realization that she was actually following through with her threat caught him off guard.

"I have a critical morning meeting. I am busy," Richard snapped aggressively.

He ended the call without waiting for her response.

Standing on the cold pavement, Beatrice listened to the dial tone buzzing in her ear. She pressed the redial button immediately. The call went straight to voicemail. She tried again, and then a third time, but he continued to ignore her repeated callbacks. He had effectively stranded her at the courthouse, knowing full well she could not finalize the legal paperwork without his signature.

With no other options left for the morning, Beatrice turned around and hailed a cab back to the apartment.

She rode the elevator up to their floor and inserted her key into the lock. As the door swung open, she paused in the entryway. The living room was packed. Her sister-in-law, Brenda, sat in the center armchair, flanked by a flock of extended Vance relatives. They looked like an organized ambush waiting to strike.

As soon as Beatrice stepped inside, the relatives jumped to their feet. They plastered stiff, fake smiles across their faces and immediately swarmed her.

"Oh, Beatrice, you're back early. Let us handle lunch today. You can take a break," one aunt offered, her tone dripping with false sweetness.

"Look, every man messes around at some point. But Richard is not like those typical cheaters. A man of his stature needs a biological heir to carry on the Vance family name. You really cannot blame him for seeking that out," an older uncle reasoned, nodding sagely as if delivering profound wisdom.

"Yeah, if he did not care about you, he would have brought Vanessa and the kid home years ago. He kept them hidden for your sake. You should be grateful," another cousin chimed in.

"At our age, we all understand how things work. Whether your husband has a hidden mistress or not does not matter. You just need to turn a blind eye to it. He still gives you financial support and takes care of the bills, right?"

Beatrice stared at the circle of hypocritical faces. Their manipulative chatter washed over her, but it did not leave a single mark. She saw right through their transparent, peacekeeper act. None of these people gave a damn about her marriage or her emotional well-being. They simply refused to see Richard's pristine reputation tarnished by a public divorce scandal. More importantly, they did not want to lose the free, live-in maid who had served them tirelessly for three decades. If she left, the burden of caring for Sylvia would fall directly onto their shoulders.

"I'm getting a divorce from Richard, and that's final." Beatrice spoke coldly, her voice slicing through the noise and silencing the room.

An uncomfortable, heavy quiet descended over the living room. The relatives exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to break her resolve.

Breaking the thick silence, Sylvia rolled her wheelchair forward from the corner of the room. She feigned a tone of gentle reasonableness, adopting the persona of a wise matriarch trying to keep her family intact.

"I know what you are so upset about. It is because Richard wants to buy a townhouse for Vanessa and Tristan," Sylvia said softly. "But we can compromise. Richard will proceed with buying the luxurious townhouse, but he will keep the property deed legally in his own name. To make things fair, you will be permitted to move into the new house alongside them."

The relatives nodded eagerly, murmuring their approval at the twisted proposition. They were essentially asking her to live as a sister-wife under the same roof as her husband's mistress.

Beatrice felt a wave of pure, unadulterated disgust churn in her stomach. The degrading expectation was absurd. They wanted her to continue serving a bitter mother-in-law while sharing a living space with the woman who destroyed her marriage.

"Richard betrayed our marriage. He's no longer faithful, and I can't live with him like this. Divorce is the only way out," Beatrice declared loudly, her tone leaving no room for debate.

A stunned, breathless silence fell over the crowded living room. The relatives stared at her with wide eyes, shocked that she would dare to reject such a 'generous' offer.

Brenda's carefully managed temper shattered into pieces. Her face darkened into a twisted sneer as she stormed across the carpet. She planted her feet directly in front of Beatrice, using her body to aggressively block the path to the hallway.

"Oh, you want to divorce Richard, huh?" Brenda shouted, her voice thick with venom. "How are you going to make up for losing Richard's child, huh? You owe our family an heir, and you think you can just leave?"