Before I could answer—SMACK.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. My cheek burned. Ethan froze, then burst into sobs. “Dad, please! Don’t hit Mom!”
Mark didn’t even flinch. He grabbed his phone, typed one message, and stared past us like we were furniture. “I’m done with you two.”
I followed him to the door, shaking. “Mark, it’s his birthday. He’s ten. You can’t just—”
He turned, voice low and venomous. “Watch me.”
Outside, a blonde woman stood by a black SUV, smiling like she’d won something. Mark brushed right past me, kissed her on the cheek, and slid into the passenger seat. The SUV pulled away while Ethan screamed from the doorway, “Dad! Come back!”
He never did.
The next months were brutal. Mark emptied our joint account and left me with overdue rent and a fridge with nothing but ketchup packets. When I called, his number went dead. His parents acted like we were contagious. I worked double shifts at a diner, then cleaned offices at night. Ethan learned to do homework under fluorescent lights while I counted tips and prayed we’d make rent.
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