Chapter 3: We're Not Dropping This

But not this time.

I ignored Janet's look, kicked off my shoes, and headed straight to the bedroom.

That only lit her fuse more. She slammed the remote down and pointed at me, ready to blow—then paused.

Something in my face stopped her cold.

"Harlan, if something's wrong, just say it. We've been together all these years. What's the point of playing games?"

She was actually caught off guard.

She didn't think I'd actually be mad over fifty bucks. And she definitely didn't think I'd leave just because I caught proof of her affair.

I scoffed and said, "I already told you, Janet. We're getting a divorce. End of story."

The second I said it again, she snapped. "Harlan Holt! Asher was right—I've been way too easy on you! Divorce? And then what? You think you can survive on your own?"

She wasn't wrong. Every cent I made from odd jobs went into this place and the kids. Even my pension got funneled straight to the guy she actually cared about.

I looked up and pointed around the room. "Tell me, what in this place WASN'T paid for with my work? Janet, where's YOUR money been going all these years? Don't act like you don't know."

We were still going at it when Asher came stomping out of his room, headphones around his neck, finger aimed right at me. "That's enough, Dad. You're accusing Mom of cheating? There's nothing going on between Mr. Sackett and Mom. Only someone as messed up as you would think like that!"

My fists clenched so tight my knuckles went white.

I looked at the son who'd lived because my mother didn't.

I remembered—right before she died, she gave me a few wrinkled bills she made collecting recyclables. "Asher's a grown boy now. Get him something for his health," she'd said.

I lost it.

Tears streaming, I raised my hand and slapped Asher across the face. "You think I'm making this up? Your grandma sold her medicine—THE MEDICINE KEEPING HER ALIVE—because your mom wouldn't give me fifty bucks. She died for you!"

Asher froze, then scoffed. "Unbelievable, Dad. Really? You're dragging Grandma into this just to guilt Mom? That's low—even for you."

Janet's face was ice now. No more softness.

She pulled fifty bucks from her wallet and shoved it at me. "Here, Harlan. It's just fifty dollars. How long are you gonna keep throwing a tantrum? Take it. Let's just drop it."

Then she turned to comfort Asher, playing the part of the calm, reasonable mom.

I stared at the fifty in my hand. Shook my head.

"We're not dropping this. Not this time."

That night, I didn't go home. First time ever.

What Janet handed me covered exactly one night at the sketchiest motel I could find. After that? Nothing.

When Asher was in the hospital, the bills wiped me out. Every last dollar. I was short fifty bucks.

Fifty.

The nurses stared at me like I was lying.

"No way someone's that broke."

I cleaned apartments for scraps of pay. Hauled trash gig to gig, counting every dollar.

Asher's tuition? Thirty grand a year.

His allowance? Eight hundred a month.

I worked myself raw. Never rested. Never spent a dime on me.

I scraped together a little over five grand—then burned every cent on Asher's hospital bills.

I really had nothing left.

And I thought Janet didn't either.

I thought she was focused on research, handing out stipends to her students, pouring money into her projects.