Chapter 7
Chelsea freezes with her mouth wide open in shock and places her hand where I slapped her—which is starting to form the perfect red imprint of my hand.
I look at my open palm, still not believing what I did. I think I, too, am in shock. The slap hit her with such strength that her makeup ended up smeared across my whole palm.
“You’re going to regret this so much, Alicent!” Chelsea warns furiously, her voice dripping with venom and my skin immediately crawls with a sense of ominous foreboding. “Sign these fucking papers right now! I’m not leaving here without—”
“I need to talk to Logan first, Chelsea!” I cut her off, trying to buy myself extra time until I figure out what I’m going to do. “We should discuss and decide on the best way to handle the custody of our son.”
My hand curls into a tight ball. I still can’t believe I slapped her in the face. I’m not like that, but I refuse to apologize now.
“Lolo has made the decision to allow Az to stay with you on weekdays and be with him on weekends. You won’t find a better deal than that,” Chelsea says, still holding her red cheek. I bet it’s hot. “After this slap, Alicent. I guarantee you that—”
I cut her threat again just because I can’t afford her wrath. “I’ll read them, and then I’ll give them signed to Logan next week,” I utter the words, holding the papers close to my body.
“Absolutely not! Do you think I’m as stupid as you? You will sign them right here and right now!” She demands, stamping her foot on the floor. Then she mutters a curse, “I hope you suffer a lot without him. You deserve it after everything you’ve done!”
“What have I done?” I ask from between gritted teeth, trying to avoid talking loudly so Az or our neighbors don’t hear me, even though I know I’ve listened to far more disturbing sounds in this hallway. “You were my best friend, Chelsea. I trusted you!”
“Your mistake, your problem. Not mine! Who do you think would willingly choose to be best friends with a loser like you, Alicent? Seriously, can you break it down for me? I don’t get it,” She says before clapping her hands twice. “Don’t waste my time! Sign these papers quickly because I don’t have all day.”
I gaze upon the divorce papers. Even though there are only a few sheets of paper, it seems like they carry a weight that feels as heavy as at least a hundred pounds.
According to one of the sections, I am obligated to continue covering Logan’s expenses, which is comparable to providing him with an allowance.
Given that he is currently without any work, I don’t feel comfortable declining the offer. Since Chelsea is very eager to marry him, it certainly means that once they are married, he will become her responsibility. Not mine.
For a moment, I was taken aback to discover that the paragraph about Az’s custody confirmed, word-for-word, what she had said.
And then I feel a lump in my throat. Although Logan may have acted in a wrong way towards me, I cannot deny the fact that he is Az’s father, and there is no doubt in my mind that he has a strong affection for his son.
The source of my fear lies in the fact that this snake, who is glaring at me with impatient eyes, will be close to my son, and I don’t want to leave my son near her.
When I next see Logan’s document explicitly demanding that I stop using his last name, an indescribable feeling of emotional distress consumes me, making my heart tighten and tears cloud my vision.
I can’t believe we’re getting divorced. The thought feels surreal, like a bad dream that I can’t wake up from.
Ten years together are not ten days or ten months.
He wasn’t always aggressive towards me. And the echoes of women’s screams within this building serve as a constant reminder that I could have ended up marrying someone who was far worse than him.
Some of them disappear after a while. In my mind, I’d rather think that they moved away and their husband stayed behind.
Suddenly, my mind is filled with memories of Logan and me with Az, each one vivid and alive, as if they happened just yesterday.
One of them is when Az said ‘Dada’ for the very first time. And then, I can vividly recall little Az, only five years old, sleeping in our bed with us because he was scared of sleeping alone that night.
Even though in most of these memories Logan either criticized Az for not being mature enough and urged him to become a man or Logan complained that I spoiled Az too much, these memories have left an indelible mark on me that I will never be able to forget.
Logan and Az were my lifeline after the devastating loss of my entire family.
A stubborn tear refuses to be held back and makes its way down my cheek. It lands perilously close to the spot where I need to sign on the paper.
Then Chelsea’s abrupt voice startles me, making me jump in surprise. “Don’t soil the paper, Alicent!”
I wipe my tears away, feeling the wetness against the back of my hand.
I keep my gaze fixed on the documents in my hand, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Chelsea, yet she thrust a blue pen right in front of my face. “Sign the papers!”
I feel lost. Alone. I feel like there’s no floor beneath my feet.
Chelsea’s right high heel, with its sleek sole, taps impatiently against the floor over and over again. At the same time, she looks around with a clearly disgusted expression on her face.
She has a habit of subtly expressing her disdain for poor people whenever the subject comes up. I should have realized I was included in those jokes.
Perhaps I should have taken that as an omen the first time she made a joke about my building, saying, ‘How can someone live in ‘this’ building?’ and I cringed inside.
I hear a persistent knocking coming from the door right behind me. “Mom, how much longer are you going to stay out there?” Az says from behind the door, his voice carrying a hint of worry.
I clear my throat. “Just a moment, buddy. I’m almost done.”
I take a long deep breath, gathering my courage, and reluctantly I begin to sign the damn papers.
One last memory rushes into my mind just as I’m about to hand the papers over to Chelsea.
It’s one of the first memories I have of Logan drinking excessively to the point of getting drunk.
This particular event occurred a few weeks after we had begun living together, approximately three or four weeks, to be more precise.
He became violent.
We had a heated argument about something that I don’t recall right now, and subsequently, I rose from my seat and made my way to the bathroom to splash cool water on my face. However, unexpectedly, Logan forcefully shoved me. He pushed me so hard that I fell to the floor and hit my forehead with a loud thud on the hard surface.
I thought Logan would stop drinking after that, and his actions would never be repeated.
Perhaps I should have taken that as an omen, too.
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