Diagnosed with ALS, He Gave Up on Me Chapter 2

Marcus waved his hand and paid it without hesitation.

I actually laughed.

No money to treat his wife's illness, but plenty to wine and dine his mistress.

Marcus called a rideshare to take us home.

The moment we walked through the door, he said:

"Claire, let's get divorced."

I paused: "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Fine. Then let's talk about how to divide our assets."

"We have $200,000 in savings. We each take $100,000. The house and Jamie both go to me. You have no objections to that, right?"

Rage flooded through me:

"Marcus, we've been married ten years. Our savings should be at least $3 million. Now there's only $200,000 left? Are you kidding me?"

"And this house—you bought it with a mortgage. We've been paying it off together. Why should it all go to you? And Jamie—I'm keeping him too!"

"The savings really are only $200,000. Forgot to tell you—I used the money to start a small business. Lost it all."

"As for the house, even though we've both been paying the mortgage, the deed is in my parents' names. It has nothing to do with you."

I slammed the table:

"Marcus! When we got married, you clearly said this house was yours!"

"It is my house. Just because it's my house doesn't mean I can't put it in my parents' names, right?"

"Fine. You want to scheme against me like this? Then I won't divorce you. Let's see who outlasts who!"

"Claire! Do you think you have many years left? If you won't divorce me, then I'll just wait to be widowed!"

I sneered:

"Then let's just wait it out. See which one of us dies first."

Marcus violently smashed a glass on the table:

"Marrying you was the worst luck of my life!"

He slammed the door and left. This time I didn't care where he went.

I immediately contacted a lawyer to discuss divorce matters and asked her to help investigate Marcus's transfer of marital assets, as well as how to fight for custody of Jamie.

My eight-year-old son was trembling from our argument. He asked me:

"Mom, are you going to divorce Dad?"

I held him in my arms:

"Sweetheart, if Mom and Dad separate, will you hate me?"

My son shook his head:

"It's not your fault. Dad likes another lady now."

He pulled out the Polaroid camera I'd bought him:

"I took pictures of Dad kissing that lady."