He Threw Away My Father's Love,So I Threw Away the MarriageChapter 1
When my father found out I was pregnant and craving braised pork, he made a whole batch at home and traveled all the way here to bring it to me. But when he plated the food, he accidentally used a dish my mother-in-law had just bought.
The moment she found out, she flew into a rage and slapped the back of his hand.
"That is a fine porcelain plate my son brought back from his trip. I don't even use it myself, and you had the nerve to pile your slop on it."
"A perfectly good piece of art, ruined because of you!"
My father froze where he stood. His hand was bleeding where a shard had cut him, but all he did was keep his head down and apologize.
I looked at my husband, sure he would stand up for my dad.
Instead, he said:
"Dad, my mom's words might be rough, but she's got a point."
"Parents need to understand boundaries."
"As a guest, touching our things without permission is basically stealing. You know that, right?"
And to make sure my father "learned his lesson,"
the very next second,
right in front of my dad, he grabbed the pot with the rest of the braised pork and slammed it upside down into the trash can.
I stared at the empty pot. I didn't argue. I didn't scream.
That night, I called a divorce lawyer and booked a moving company.
If my father couldn't so much as use a single plate in this house,
then this apartment I'd bought outright before the marriage, paid for in full with my own money,
they could forget about living in it, too.
——
When I heard the commotion and rushed to the kitchen, the smell of braised pork still hung in the air.
But.
The meat, still steaming, was tangled with shards of porcelain on the floor, reduced to a ruined heap.
And my father, who had never been anything but smiles in front of me,
stood white as a sheet, ignoring the blood dripping from his finger, apologizing to my mother-in-law over and over again.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I saw the plate sitting out and assumed it was for everyday use. I had no idea it was something precious to you..."
In thirty years, I had never once seen him look so small.
But his bowed head didn't earn him Georgette James's forgiveness.
If anything, it made her feel she could push harder.
Her voice climbed another octave.
"Who do you think you are? Who do you think you ARE?"
Her finger jabbed so close it nearly touched my father's nose.