The Birthday That Buried Us

Mike's expression darkened the moment he saw the divorce papers in my hands. "Enough, Jess. There's a limit to this nonsense. Do you really think threatening me will work?"

His voice was sharp, laced with irritation. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "I never thought you'd be this petty—counting every little thing like some miserable wretch. You're just like your mother." His lips curled in disdain. "Not only poor, but small-minded."

I hadn't expected that. Not after five years of marriage.

His words sliced through me, cold and merciless, leaving a sharp, stinging pain in their wake. Tears welled up before I could stop them.

"You hate my mom, don't you?" My voice trembled, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Don't worry, Mike. You'll never have to see her again."

He frowned, glancing around. "What? Did she run away because I brought Cathy back?"

My breath caught in my throat, and when I finally spoke, it came out as a scream—raw, broken. "No! She's dead! She died because of you!"

The room went still.

Mike stood frozen. "What… what did you just say?"

He had never seen me like this before, never seen me unravel so completely. For the first time, I saw something close to panic in his eyes. "Jess, don't lie to me. Your mom was fine. She was fine."

Cathy let out a small laugh. "Mikey, she's obviously making it up. If her mom really died, where's the body? Don't let her fool you."

This time, Mike ignored her. His focus was entirely on me. "Jess, stop this. If you don't want Cathy here, I'll find another place for her in a few days, alright? Just give me some time."

I let out a hollow laugh. "No. That's never happening."

Before he could respond, Cathy suddenly slumped onto the couch.

Mike's face twisted with alarm. He touched her forehead, then turned back to me, his voice urgent. "Jess, go get some medicine! Her fever is back!"

I let out a cold laugh. "Why should I?"

His jaw tightened. "Because she's sick!"

"And that's my problem?" I took a step closer, my voice icy. "Don't forget, my mom paid for this apartment with everything she had. Who the hell do you think you are, bringing some random woman here?"

Mike's patience snapped. "Because my name is on the deed!" His voice thundered through the room. "You don't want to help? Then get out!"

The anger surged through me so violently that my body shook. I wanted to scream, to tear him apart, to erase the sight of him standing there, looking at me like I was the one being unreasonable.

My hands trembled as I grabbed the fruit plate from the table and hurled it at him.

"Mike, you're letting some other woman live in the home my mom spent her life savings on! Do you even have a conscience?"

The plate shattered at his feet, sending shards of porcelain flying.

For a moment, he didn't move. His expression darkened, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. Then, slowly, he looked up at me.

"Jess," he said, his voice eerily calm, "do you really think I won't do anything to you? If you don't stop this, I'll cut off your mom's medication."

The words hit like a physical blow. Pain spread through my heart, tightening like a vice. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think.

I never imagined he'd say something like that for Cathy.

Mike had always been my mom's primary doctor. He was the one who prescribed her medication, the one who controlled the supply. If she were still alive, maybe I would've endured this.

But she wasn't.

I lifted my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Mike," I said, my voice hollow, "sign the papers. Take your mistress and get out. Or I'm calling the police."

He laughed then. A slow, cold laugh that sent a chill down my spine.

"Fine." His expression turned cruel. "Since you refuse to listen, don't blame me for being ruthless."

He pulled out his phone and dialed the hospital line.

"Stop all medication for patient 028," he said, his tone clipped, businesslike. "Her symptoms have improved. She doesn't need it anymore."

Then he turned to me, eyes dark and filled with contempt.

"When you apologize, you'll get the medicine back."

He was waiting for me to cave. Waiting for me to beg.

But then, the voice on the other end of the line sighed.

"Dr. Tyler," the nurse said, "patient 028 passed away a week ago. Cardiac arrest. We couldn't save her. You… didn't know?"

Mike stiffened.

His fingers tightened around the phone. His breath caught, and for a second, he didn't move.

"What are you talking about? I'm asking about patient 028. Not anyone else."

The nurse hesitated. "Yes, Dr. Tyler. That's what I'm telling you. Patient 028—your mother-in-law—passed away last week. Didn't… didn't your wife tell you?"