I stood up and pointed towards the door.
“Both of you must leave. Right now.”
“Please,” Mom pleaded softly. “Your father didn’t mean it that way.”
—Yes —I replied—. He did.
“You’re being cruel, Jennifer,” Dad snapped. “You’re humiliating us.”
“There has to be another solution,” Mom said desperately, turning to Jordan. “Please…”
Jordan shook his head.
“I support my wife.”
Dad stood up abruptly, anger etched on his face. What he said next destroyed what little relationship we had left.
“I guess I shouldn’t expect an average-sized man to wear the trousers in this marriage. It’s hard to stand up to your wife when she’s twice your height, isn’t it?”
“GET OUT!” I shouted.
For the first time all night, Mom seemed genuinely shaken. Not regretful. Not enlightened. Simply terrified because she finally understood they had no other options.
He grabbed Dad’s arm and led him towards the door.
Neither of them looked back.
The front door clicked shut behind them, a sound somehow louder than all the insults that had filled the room before.
For several seconds, neither Jordan nor I moved.
Outside, a door slammed.
“This didn’t turn out as you expected,” I finally said.
Jordan looked at me calmly, with the same serenity that had accompanied us at all times.
“No,” he admitted. “But it was the right decision. You did the right thing, as always.”
At that moment, something inside my chest relaxed.
Neither relief. Nor triumph.
Simply clarity.
The kind that arises when you finally stop pretending that something broken can still be fixed.
The bill remained on the table between us.
Neither of them tried to reach him.
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