Adopting Lies at the Table

After five years of marriage, Peter had breakfast with me for the first time.

But there was a three-year-old boy sitting beside him.

My buddy from the military died. The kid has no one to take care of him. Let's adopt him.

The child looked up, his features a carbon copy of Peter's.

I laughed coldly.

"Your friend's kid? He looks just like you!"

His expression changed.

"She doesn't want any official status, she'll just live here to help take care of the kid... You'll still be my wife, plus we'll have a child. What a great arrangement!"

I set down my fork, looking at this man who owned three companies.

The sixty-million-dollar hole in Peter Corporationevery cent filled by my father's money.

"Peter, I had my lawyer draft the divorce papers. Take your woman and your kid, and get out!"

He picked up the child and set him on the chair, then turned to face me, hands sliding into his pockets.

"Dorman, you've been married to me for five years. Whose name is on the incorporation papers for those three companies?"

"Yours."

"Whose name is on the property deed?"

"Yours."

"Right." He pulled out a chair and sat down, leisurely picking up a piece of toast. "That sixty million from your dadthat's an investment in the company. Not a single word of it has anything to do with you personally."

He took a bite of the toast.

"What exactly do you think you can divorce me with?"

The three-year-old boy sat in his high chair, poking at a yogurt cup with his spoon, glancing at me after each poke.

His brow bone, his nose bridge, even that mole at the corner of his mouthall perfect copies of Peter.

"You think I didn't prepare?"

"Prepare what? Find a lawyer?" He laughed. "Sergio, right? I had dinner with him yesterday. His firm is now Peter Corporation's legal team."

I stared at him.

He set down the toast, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and stood up.

"Dorman, stop making a scene. Mary will be coming over this afternoon. Help clean up the room next door."

He walked to the door to change his shoes. As he bent down to tie his laces, he glanced back at the child.

"Andrew, behave. Daddy will be home tonight."

Daddy, not uncle. He wasn't even bothering to hide it anymore.

Twelve minutes after the door closed, my phone rang. Unknown number.

"Dorman, this is Mary." Her voice was soft and sweet.

"Peter said I should come over at three this afternoon. Is the room ready?"

"What else did he tell you?"

"He said... you'd agreed."

"Which part of what I said sounded like agreement?"

Silence for two seconds on the other end.

"Dorman, I really won't take up much space. I'll just help take care of Andrew, do some cooking. Think of me as a free nanny..."

"That person pinned on your Twitterwhat's his contact name?"

Her breathing hitched.

"I saw it this morning. Between eight and nine, you sent him eight messages. The last one said'Honey, did she agree? I'm so nervous.'"

"Dorman..."

"You also have an Instagram account called 'M's Happiness Code,' with 1.17 million followers. Three months ago you posted a video with a living room in the backgroundwarm lighting, mahogany coffee table, custom Italian curtains. You told the camera, 'This is the home I share with my husband.'"

The girl went silent.

I continued: "That living room is mine. Those curtains I ordered from Milan. That coffee table I brought when I moved in."

More silence.

"Are you still coming at three?"

Her voice was small, but showed no sign of backing down.

"Dorman, Peter told me to come."

At three o'clock sharp, the doorbell rang.

She wore a cream-colored knit dress, her hair in a low ponytail, her skin so pale it seemed to glow.

When she smiled, dimples appeared deep enough to hold wine.

"Hello, Dorman." She bent down, dragging two suitcases.

The boy jumped down from the sofa and threw himself into her arms.

"Mommy!"

She picked up the child, kissed his forehead, then looked at me.

Not a trace of guilt in her eyes.

She turned a circle in the living room, as if returning to her own home.

Maybe in her mind, this had always been her home.

"Dorman, which way is the guest room? I can find it myself."

"That ring on your left hand."

Her smile froze.

On her left ring finger sat a sapphire ring. My engagement ring.

Two years ago, Peter said he'd sent it for maintenance. It never came back.

She pulled her hand behind her back.

"Peter gave it to me..."

"I know who gave it to you."

I turned and headed upstairs.

Her voice followed from behind, small, with a sweet, grievance-tinged quality.

"Dorman, I'm really just here to help."

"Dorman, don't be so petty."

My mother-in-law Ruth's call came earlier than I'd expected.

"Peter told me the child is his comrade's orphan. How can a woman like you have so little magnanimity?"

"Mom, that child calls Mary 'Mommy.'"

"What do kids know? He'll call whoever takes care of him."

Her words came fast, like she'd rehearsed them all night.

"Peter came clean with me too. She's just helping out, staying for a few days then leaving. If you insist on thinking that way, is it because you've had no children for five years and feel resentful?"

When those words pierced through, my nails dug into my palms.

"Mom, do you know why I haven't had children in five years?"

"If your health isn't good, go get treatment. I've told you so many times"

"In our second year of marriage, Peter had me take medication for six months, saying it would help me conceive. I took the prescription to a hospital to checklong-term use of that drug causes infertility."

Silence for two seconds on the other end.

"You're talking nonsense. Hasn't Peter been good enough to you? Do you have to tear this family apart?"

She hung up.

At noon, Mary came down from the room next door and cooked a whole table of food.

Andrew sat at the dining table, holding his bowl, getting food all over his face.

She sat beside him, wiping him clean bit by bit with wet wipes.

Seeing me come downstairs, she stood up.

"Dorman, I served you a bowl of soup too."

The soup bowl sat at the far end of the table.

She was sitting in my usual seat.

I didn't touch that bowl of soup.

When I went out that afternoon to buy medicine, I swiped Peter's supplementary card.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, this card has been deactivated."

I switched to my own savings card and entered the password. Insufficient funds.

I opened my mobile banking app.

Three days ago, my personal account had been hit with a transfer. One hundred and forty thousand dollars, all moved to Peter Corporation's custodial account.

Operator: Peter.

Using a clause from that investment authorization I'd signed years ago"Party B's funds shall be uniformly allocated and used by Party A."

That evening, Ruth arrived.

A seventy-year-old woman in low-heeled pumps, carrying a bag of fruit through the door.

The moment she saw Mary, she smiled.

"Such a lovely girl. Come here, let me see Andrew."

She held the child, touching his face, kissing his forehead, eyes narrowing to slits.

"This noseexactly like Peter when he was little."

She knew. She knew everything.

Ruth pulled a box from her bag and opened it.

An emerald jade bracelet, beautiful.

I recognized itit was a gift from my family at my wedding, valued at eighty thousand dollars.

In our second year of marriage, Ruth said she wanted to borrow it for a friend's birthday party. It never came back.

She slipped the bracelet onto Mary's wrist.

"Here, this is for you. Taking care of the child must be hard work."

Mary demurred twice, just the right amount, then accepted on the third try.

"Thank you."

She said it while smiling at me.

Ruth sat on the sofa, picked up the tea Mary had made, and glanced at me.

"Dorman, you're thirty now. They say it gets harder for women to have children after thirty. Look how well-behaved Andrew is. Raise him for now, we can discuss the rest later."

"Mom, that bracelet is mine."

"What's yours and mine? Once you enter the door of Peter's house, everything belongs to Peter's house."

She set down her teacup.

"Dorman, if you really can't accept this, then I'll speak plainlyPeter told me you want a divorce."

She looked at me, her gaze shifting from kindness to something else.

"You can enter the door of Peter's house, but you can't leave."

"All that money from your dad counts as investment. Investment has risksdidn't you learn that in school?"

"You're one person, no children, no assets. What could you possibly do if you left?"

Mary stood in the kitchen doorway holding Andrew, saying nothing, but she was smiling.

Ruth stood up, patting at nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt.

"Think it through before you come talk to me again."

"A man like Peterthere's a line of women wanting to marry him. Count yourself lucky."

"We're eating at home tonight. Ruth invited some relatives."

Peter's message came at four in the afternoon.

When I arrived, seven or eight people sat in the living room.

Peter's relativespeople who normally didn't visit, all here today.

At the dinner table, my seat was gone.

Mary sat on Peter's right, Andrew on her lap.

The chair I usually sat in had been moved to a corner.

"Dorman's here. Get yourself a chair." Ruth didn't even look up.

Peter's father's sister, Bonnie, spoke up.

"Peter, is this the girl you mentioned? So pretty. The child really looks like you."

Peter smiled without denying it.

Bonnie turned to Mary.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four." Mary smiled sweetly.

"Twenty-four with a child this big alreadycapable. Better than some people."

Bonnie glanced at me.

Ruth chimed in, "Isn't that the truth? Five years and not even a peep."

Around the entire table, not one person spoke up for me.

I stood there, holding a glass of water.

"Dorman, don't just stand there, sit." Peter finally spoke. He pointed to a small chair temporarily added at the end of the table.

I didn't sit.

"Peter, my lawyer can't reach you."

"We're eating. Why bring this up now?"

The table went quiet for two seconds.

"Dorman" Ruth's fork struck the table. "Are you going to make a scene in front of relatives?"

"This is making a scene?"

"You're being completely unreasonable." Bonnie slammed the table. "Hasn't Peter been good enough to you? Look around this cityhow many people live better than you? How many spend more than you?"

I looked at Bonnie.

"Spend more? My supplementary card was canceled. One hundred forty thousand was transferred from my personal account. I have three hundred dollars in my pocket right now, and that's cash I withdrew yesterday."

Bonnie froze, turning to look at Peter.

"Peter, this..."

"Family matters. Don't listen to her one-sided story." His fork didn't stop, his tone impossibly mild. "Dorman's been emotionally unstable lately. I've already scheduled an appointment with a psychologist."

A psychologist. He was calling me sick, in front of everyone.

Mary sat beside him, head down, feeding Andrew, not speaking, not looking at me.

But her phone screen lit up.

I saw her secretly type two words and send them.

"Done."

I couldn't see who she sent it to.

But I clearly saw the contact name on that conversation.

Honey.

At eleven that night, I sat alone in the bedroom.

All bank cards frozen. Lawyer channels blocked. Every relative on his side. Next door came the sound of Mary coaxing the child to sleep, her voice sweet and soft.

I pulled out my phone and found a number saved for five years but never dialed.

My father, Johnson. But I didn't call.

The moment the phone screen dimmed, Ruth's voice drifted up from downstairs.

She was talking to Mary.

"Mary, feel free to settle in. This house will be yours to run sooner or later."

"If she really leaves, all the better. At least she won't be an eyesore. Anyway, she can't take a single useful thing with her."

"Just sign it."

The next morning, Peter slapped a document in front of me.

"Supplementary Agreement," neatly printed, twelve pages.

Flipping to the last page, Peter's signature already graced the Party A signature line.

Complete with Peter Corporation's seal.

"Sign this, and we'll part on good terms. I won't make things difficult for you."

He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat across from me.

"You can live in the house until the end of the year. I'll give you another card with twenty thousand a month. Enough for you to find new work."

Twenty thousand.

I'd brought three million in dowry. My father filled a sixty-million-dollar hole.

He was returning twenty thousand a month.

"What if I don't sign?"

He took a sip of coffee.

"If you don't sign, you can still leave. But you can't take anything with you. Including your dowrylet me remind you, the custody of that jewelry is in my mother's hands. She says it's hers. Want to sue? Go ahead, get in line."

He set down the cup and stared at me.

"Dorman, you overestimate yourself."

"What do you think you have? Your father's influence? Your father's influence works in business, but it's worthless in family court."

Mary emerged from the kitchen carrying breakfast.

Fried eggs, toast, fresh-squeezed orange juice.

She placed a plate in front of Peter, another in front of Andrew. Nothing for me.

"Peter, have breakfast."

She sat beside him, at this table, in my seat.

Ruth came down from upstairs and glanced at the agreement on the table.

"Sign it, Dorman. The sooner you sign, the sooner you're free. Look at yourself nowno money, no children, no lawyer. What are you still fighting for?"

"If you don't sign, don't blame me for being bluntbesides your father's connections, what do you have left?"

Peter leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, watching me.

I knew that expression too wellbone-deep certainty.

He was certain I would sign, certain I had no leverage, certain he'd won this game.

"Dorman, you don't have to sign. But if you leave me, you're nothing."

He smiled as he said this.

And my phone rang, the screen lighting up with my father's name.

I didn't have time to answer, because in that same second, Peter's phone rang too.

Peter frowned as he answered, and the voice on the other end said only one sentence.

I didn't hear the content, but I saw his face.

The color drained layer by layer.

He set down the phone and looked at me.

His lips moved twice without making a sound.

Ruth's phone connected too, someone shouting on the other end. Her face crumpled in an instant.

"What do you mean everything's frozen? What do you mean everything?"

Mary stood there holding the child, smile still plastered on her face, not understanding what was happening.

I picked up my phone and answered.

"Dad."

The voice on the other end was calm.

"Dorman, it's done."