The Morning After
When I opened the storeroom door the next morning — Anita was gone.
Panic hit me. I ran to tell my mother. She turned pale and ordered everyone to search.
A neighbor spoke up,
“I saw her last night. She was crying, dragging a suitcase down the street. I gave her some money for a taxi. She said she was going home — she couldn’t take the way you and your mother treated her anymore. She plans to file for divorce.”
My phone slipped from my hand.
When Anita finally answered my call, her voice was calm but cold.
“I’m at my parents’ house. In a few days, I’ll file for divorce. Our son will stay with me, of course. And the property — half of it is mine.”
My heart pounded. I told my mother, hoping she’d help fix it. But she only scoffed,
“She’s bluffing. She won’t dare.”
But deep down, I knew — this time, Anita wasn’t bluffing.
