Chapter 2 - I'm giving you exactly what you asked for
I didn't cry. I didn't beg.
If anyone in the restaurant had paused to capture that exact, defining fraction of a second—they would have witnessed the absolute collapse of Margaret's grand design. In the image, Margaret is leaning over the table in her pearls, her face twisted in shock as her cruel plan misfires. David is frozen, his phone still recording, looking utterly bewildered. And I am standing up from the red vinyl booth in my burgundy blouse, completely unbothered, one hand holding my purse and the other reaching for a pen, radiating the cold, untouchable power of a woman who is already ten steps ahead.
I reached into my purse.
I didn't pull out a tissue. I pulled out a sleek, black fountain pen.
I clicked the cap off, laid the divorce petition flat on the white tablecloth right next to my slice of birthday cake, and flipped directly to the last page.
"What are you doing?" David asked, his voice suddenly losing its confident edge.
"I'm giving you exactly what you asked for," I said smoothly.
I pressed the pen to the paper and signed my name on the respondent's line. My signature was elegant, steady, and large. I didn't even read the division of assets. I didn't need to. I already knew David's bank accounts were heavily over-leveraged, propped up entirely by Margaret's conditional trust fund—a trust fund he would only fully inherit if he remained married for five years. A small detail he had apparently forgotten to share with his mother.
May you like
I capped the pen and pushed the papers across the table toward Margaret.
"There," I smiled. "All yours."
