Chapter 1

1: 1

On the day of our son's one-month celebration, I'd booked the banquet ahead of time.

My parents and relatives rode the train ten hours to get here, only to be stopped at the door by my wife, Bianca Whitlock.

She pulled out ten boxes of infectious-disease test strips and threw them in my face.

"Everyone in your family gets tested for STDs right now. Not one of you comes inside until they do."

My mother knew how fussy my wife was, so she wiped her palms on her clothes first before bending down to pick them up.

I reached out and stopped her.

Bianca turned on us in an instant.

"Ulysses Matthews says your hometown has more infectious diseases and STDs than anywhere in the country."

"Today is my son's one-month party. There's no way I'm letting this many walking sources of infection touch him!"

Ulysses was the boy she'd grown up with.

"It's just a finger prick, right? I'll do the test."

My mother's face went red with embarrassment, but she still reached out and caught my arm.

"Your wife just cares about the baby. Don't fight with her."

"City folk have a lot of rules."

"And our relatives are all reasonable people. They'll understand."

I looked at the white streaks in my mother's hair, then picked up my phone and messaged my childhood friend, the one who's a lawyer.

"Draft me a divorce agreement."

1.

Bianca stood at the hotel entrance.

She counted my relatives off on her finger, one by one.

Then she set the ten boxes of test strips on the hood of the car.

"Seventeen people total. I counted. Not one short, or nobody gets in."

Just as she turned around, my friend called back.

His tone was that of a man fed up with me.

"Rod Abbott, you want a divorce?"

"I'm not trying to lecture you, but you can't even cover the filing fee."

I glanced at my balance.

Twenty-five in my wallet app. Thirty-seven cents in the bank.

The first night after Bianca and I got married.

The first thing when we walked in wasn't a hug, wasn't a kiss.

She held out her right hand, palm up, and said to me,

"Rod, where's your salary card?"

"Ulysses says men go bad once they have money."

"From now on I handle the money in this house. I'll give you five hundred a month for pocket money."

It wasn't that I begrudged spending money on her.

I just couldn't stand the taste of being controlled.

Because I didn't hand over the card, Bianca went back to her mother's that same night.

My parents rushed over to her family's place overnight to apologize, and made me write a formal promise in front of every one of her relatives.

"Once you're married, you're one family."

"If your wife wants to handle the money, let her."

Just because I'd married Bianca, my whole family kept its head down for two years.

My balance never climbed above five hundred again.

This time I didn't want to keep my head down.

My friend hung up and sent me a divorce-agreement template.

Then a voice message, a dozen-odd seconds long.

"A short pain beats a long one."

"Go ahead and bring it up with her. I'll help you protect your assets."

Right after that, I messaged Linda Fox, my college classmate who's the finance director at the company.

"Get me my salary records. For a divorce."

Just as the message went through, Ulysses came out.

He had a mask on and disposable gloves, and he looked at my family the way you'd look at a virus.

"Whose son's one-month party is this, yours or mine?"

"Do I really have to keep coming out here to hurry you along?"

He tore open a box and flung the instruction sheet onto my father's shoulder.

I charged at him to hit him, and my mother stopped me again.

"It's a happy day. Say what you have to say nicely."

She forced a smile, her back bending without her even thinking about it.