chapter 4

Go on, Jason. Say exactly what I expect. I felt unfazed. Jason barked, “Charlotte, you’ve crossed the line. You even forced Mom to lie for you? How many times must I say this? My midnight cycling is just that—cycling. Stop creating drama.”

Judith struggled for breath, raising her voice. “Jason, I’m not lying. My chest is tight. Please come home.”

Jason let out a frosty laugh. “Mom, don’t even start. You rush to the emergency department over a paper cut, so if you’re just experiencing discomfort, you’re fine. I’m staying with Wendy tonight. I refuse to repeat my mistakes.”

Judith’s face darkened. Meanwhile, Wendy’s light chuckle came through the line. “Mrs. Reeves, you’re Jason’s mother, not his wife. Stop clinging to him. Sick or not, you should be in hospital, not playing the tragic damsel to win sympathy. What’s the point?”

With that, the call went dead.

I cheered silently, wishing I could applaud. Judith, however, shared none of her enthusiasm.

She clutched her chest, phone slipping from limp fingers as she collapsed onto the couch, whispering, “Ambulance... Hurry... Ambulance...”

I flung myself beside her, pretending to listen for a heartbeat. After a theatrical pause, I wailed, “What? You’d rather die than go to the hospital?”

“Go... Go...” Judith gasped, eyes shining with tears.

Ignoring everything else, I raised my voice. “Must we really wait for Jason? Mom, why? Jason cares only about night-riding with Wendy; he does not care whether you live or die. Why cling to him?”

Judith could no longer form words. Only harsh wheezes scraped from her chest. I knew the heart attack had struck hard. She was already starving for air, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Still on my knees, I sobbed, “Mom, please go to the hospital. All right. All right. I’m call him again. I’m calling now.”

My tears and snot were theatre as I rang Jason and Wendy over and over. After a dozen attempts, their phones went dark. I almost laughed, but forced myself to keep dialing every relative, friend, and colleague in our circle.

I fired off message after message, writing, "This is Charlotte. Can you reach Jason? I can’t! Please, his mom has collapsed with a heart attack and will not leave for the hospital unless he arrives. He chose a night ride with Wendy instead, and now his mom is paying the price."

By the time my voice was a ragged whisper and Judith’s chest barely moved—more air leaving than entering—I finally thought to call an ambulance.

The paramedics rushed us to the hospital. When the heart monitor drew an unwavering line across the screen, I allowed myself the first smile of the day.

It was past noon the next day when I finished the paperwork and drove home. I had barely stepped inside the house before Jason returned with Wendy in tow.

They looked giddy, clinging onto each other like teenagers drunk on first love. Laugh while you can, Jason. Let us see whether you still smile once you hear your mom’s dead.

Before I could open my mouth, Jason hurled a set of papers onto the coffee table. “Charlotte, I’m done. I want a divorce. I cannot stomach a woman whose every word is a lie.”

Though I had dreamed of this moment, the ease with which he delivered it still left me stunned.

Wendy offered a sweet smile and said, “All we did was go cycling, yet you bombarded us with calls and dragged the entire family into it. Do you realize what you have done? Everyone now thinks Jason is a jerk, and I am some scheming mistress. Men hate being cornered. You pushed too hard, and look. He’s walking away.”

Jason fixed me with an icy stare. “Sign quickly, or I cannot promise I will keep my temper.”

I understood his threat perfectly. Still, I wore the mask of a devastated wife and signed. The assets were split fairly. We had no children, and the paperwork was finished in record time.

When everything ended, Jason finally exhaled and clasped Wendy’s hand as though she were some treasure. Go ahead and cherish her; you will need the comfort. “Since we are divorced, I should give this to you.”

Jason did not even reach for it. “What is it?” he asked impatiently.

I sighed. “It’s... your mom’s death certificate.”