PART 2: A TOAST TO REMEMBER
Crisp, clear audio poured into the dining room.
“She’s driving me insane. Texting pictures of the baby, asking when I’ll be home… I just want her to leave me alone.”
My mother-in-law’s smile disappeared at once. My father put down his napkin, his brow knitting into a dangerous scowl.
The recording played on, echoing off the walls:
“Of course I hate her. I barely touch her anymore. Just wait. I’ll divorce her, and then I’ll marry you.”
Then came the wet, unmistakable sound of a kiss, followed by the giggle of his twenty-four-year-old junior associate, Chloe.
Julian turned paler than the fine china on the table. He lurched to his feet, sending his chair crashing onto the hardwood floor. “Nora! Shut that off! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
My father rose next, his chair scraping back violently. “Julian… what the hell was that?”
“It’s… it’s a setup!” Julian stammered, his eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal. “It’s an AI voice generator! Nora is unhinged! She’s suffering from postpartum psychosis!”
I kept my temper and my voice level. I simply reached into the leather portfolio on the sideboard and drew out a stack of thick, printed documents.
“This isn’t AI, Julian,” I said, placing the first folder in front of his mother. “This is your itemized phone bill from the past six months, showing over four thousand late-night text messages to Chloe’s personal line.”
I put the second folder down before my father. “This is the surveillance log from a private investigator detailing their afternoon meetups at the Grand Hyatt downtown—paid for using our joint emergency savings account.”
And last, I set a third, legal-sized folder right on Julian’s empty pie plate.
“And this,” I smiled warmly, “is a formal petition for divorce, along with an emergency freeze on all marital assets.”
Evelyn stared at the photos of her son walking into hotel rooms with another woman, her hand shaking as she clapped it over her mouth in complete shame. She had spent two years lecturing me about being a “supportive wife,” yet the cold evidence of her son’s betrayal left her utterly speechless.
“You hosted a dinner… just to do this?” Julian rasped out, his hands trembling as he stared at the legal papers.
“No,” I replied, taking a slow sip of my water. “I hosted a dinner so that when I threw you out of my house, your family would be right here to pick up your trash.”
