40 Years of Betrayal

My heart felt a pang of bitterness as my eyes fell upon Tommy's bag, left behind on the sofa.

Recalling that the restaurant they'd mentioned wasn't far, I quickly slipped on my shoes, worried he might lack money to settle the bill, and hurried downstairs to deliver it.

When I arrived at the restaurant, just as I was about to step inside, the scene through the glass window froze me in my tracks.

There they were—my son, his wife, my wife. And, seated among them as if he belonged, my wife's first love.

The four of them sat together, laughing and chatting with a warmth I could hardly remember being a part of, like they were the real family and I was a forgotten shadow.

Swallowing my anger, I walked in and handed the bag to Tommy. "You left your bag behind. I was afraid you wouldn't have money to pay."

He crossed his arms, his tone sharp. "Weren't you not coming?"

His words stung, but I masked my pain, turned to leave, and was halfway out when I heard his sneering voice behind me. "Not gonna give me the bag? So I'll be stuck without money to pay?"

He laughed coldly and added, "These days, everyone uses mobile payment. You should catch up with the times already."

The weight of his words settled over me. It was a cruel reminder of how far behind the world I'd fallen.

Standing there, paralyzed by the feeling of being obsolete, I didn't know how to respond.

It was then that Zack, my wife's old flame, stepped in smoothly, his tone conciliatory. "Come on, Tommy, don't say that about your dad. I'll cover the bill today. Now then, Sam, join us for dinner."

My daughter-in-law, Angeline Heide chimed in, urging, "That's right, Dad, at least sit and eat a little."

But Tommy wasn't finished with his cutting remarks. "Dad, take a lesson from Zack, will you? Look at what you're wearing, and look at him."

I glanced at Zack, dressed impeccably in a perfectly tailored suit, every seam hugging his frame. By contrast, I was clad in a loose, sweat-stained undershirt and worn-out trousers.

His hands were smooth and refined, while mine bore the rough scars and calluses of decades spent writing.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, tossing the bag onto the table before walking out as fast as my legs could carry me.

Once I was out in the open air, the truth hit me like a wave. Forty years. For forty years, I had been nothing but an accessory.

I was Megan's husband and Tommy's father, but never, not even for a moment, me.

All these years, I had played roles dictated by others, dutifully donning the masks they handed me, and somewhere along the way, I had lost myself entirely.

When Megan announced she was opening a gambling parlor, I said nothing. We maintained an uneasy silence until the night before her grand opening.

I was sitting at the table, trying to figure out how to use a smartphone. She wandered in without a word and placed herself beside me.

"Sam, I've opened the shop," she said, handing me a bank card. "The profits from the gambling parlor will go into this card."

She then returned my salary card, something I hadn't seen in years.

"Sam, I promise you—I'll never do anything like that again. From now on, you keep your card; it's yours to manage."

There was a brief pause before she added, as if it were an afterthought, "But the gambling parlor will see all kinds of people coming and going. It's better if you don't show up there."

I looked up into her eyes, searching desperately for a flicker of sincerity.

All I saw was the murky cloudiness of her whites.

After Megan opened her shop, the house was empty during the day, leaving me alone.

One afternoon, a knock came at the door, and my daughter-in-law, Angeline stood there, carrying a bag of milk and fruit.

"Dad," she said, her tone apologetic, "what Tommy said yesterday was wrong. I already scolded him for it."

Then she brightened up, as if to lighten the mood. "Today, I thought I'd take you out shopping. We'll buy you some new clothes and then stop by Mom's gambling parlor. How does that sound?"

Not wanting to disappoint her thoughtful gesture, I agreed.

At the gambling parlor's entrance, she parked the car and turned to me with a smile. "Dad, you go on in. Mom will light up when she sees you like this."

I understood her intent—to give me and Megan some space—and nodded with a small smile. With that, she drove off.

As I walked along the street toward Megan's shop, I realized how long it had been since I'd ventured out on my own. Years of burying myself in books and teaching had made me forget the world outside.

"Boss lady, you're so beautiful!"

The boisterous shout jolted me from my thoughts.

Boss lady?

I could guess who they meant and quickened my steps. But before I reached the door, another voice rang out.

"Boss! Long time no see—getting more handsome every day, I see!"

I stopped in my tracks, puzzled. That couldn't be about Megan.

Turning my head slightly, I caught sight of a familiar figure at the entrance.

There stood Zack, a cigarette in hand, chatting with the customers like an old pro.

The ease in his demeanor, the camaraderie in his words—it was the kind of familiarity that only years of closeness could build.

Then I heard the voice I knew so well, the one I'd shared a life with, speaking from inside the shop.

"Of course! With a boss this handsome, how could I not be proud? You guys should stop by more often—we're practically old friends now!"

Her words struck like a blow.

"Are you all right, sir?" a passerby asked, their concerned voice breaking through the haze in my mind.

I must have looked as bad as I felt. I asked the kind stranger to help me to a nearby cafe nearby where I could sit and catch my breath.

The boss and the boss lady…

So this was why Megan didn't want me at the gambling parlor.

How many years had Zack played the role of her husband out here?

Away from my sight, how happy a pair they must have been—like the most perfect and radiant couple.

I looked down at the clothes I'd bought specifically for this visit, the newness of them now seeming utterly ridiculous.

I didn't go inside to confront her. Instead, I managed, for the first time, to use my phone's navigation app and find my way home alone.

That evening, I waited in the living room until well past midnight. Finally, the sound of the door opening reached my ears.

She entered and, seeing me still awake, frowned. "Sam, why aren't you asleep? I was hoping for you to cook breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Why so late?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady.

"The parlor was packed," she replied breezily. "Everyone was caught up in the good time. It's all for making money, you know!"

She came closer, and I could smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke that clung to her.

I closed my eyes, unwilling to look at her any longer. "Megan," I said quietly, "let's get a divorce."