Fifty Dollars For A Life

The third week of the mandated cooling-off period ended, and I rescinded the divorce filing. Eliza and I were officially, sickeningly, back together.

She hosted a celebration, inviting a close-knit group of her friends. Three glasses of wine in, someone suggested we play a round of “I’ve Never.”

“I’ve never had a spouse cheat on me and then still taken them back for the sake of the marriage—drink up!”

Every single eye in the room swiveled to me.

Eliza’s smile froze. Her brow furrowed, ready to scold the person who’d spoken.

I didn’t react the way I used to—a quick, furious glare or a silent, dramatic exit. Instead, I smiled, raised my glass, and drained it.

“It’s all in the past,” I said, the words tasting like ash.

Grant, Eliza’s childhood best friend and the elephant in the room, snickered, leaning forward.

“My man, you’re seriously whipped. No wonder everyone calls you a walking punchline.”

A beat of silence, then a burst of cruel laughter.

“Gotta hand it to Eliza, she’s trained him well!”

“Seriously, an icon for us ladies, ha ha ha!”

Eliza’s friends were exactly as they always were: cold, cutting, and full of contempt for me.

She reached out to grab my hand, a gesture of performative comfort, but I shifted just enough to avoid her touch. I shook my head, keeping the smile fixed. It was fine.

It truly was fine. All of it was over.

Her betrayal, our marriage, the man I used to be—it had all run its course.

1

The game continued. The next person raised a hand, their voice ringing out.

“I’ve never done everything a couple does—the trips, the nights, the promises—with someone I wasn’t actually dating. Take a drink if you have!”

The words had barely left his lips before all attention snapped back to me.

Everyone knew the score. Eliza’s affair had been with Grant. And I, historically, was the kind of person who’d burn down a village just to scorch one enemy.

When I first found out about the infidelity, I went nuclear. I almost ruined her law firm’s reputation. They were all waiting, leaning back with a smug, anticipatory thrill, hoping I’d erupt and create a scene for their entertainment.

But I didn’t give them what they wanted. I rested my chin on my palm and looked sweetly at the two main characters.

“Go on, drink up. Don’t be poor sports.”

Grant picked up his glass with a challenging smirk, slid onto Eliza’s lap, and started to lean in for a joint shot.

Eliza shoved him off, stood up so fast her chair scraped, and yanked my wrist. She didn’t stop until we were outside, ignoring the calls of her friends echoing behind us.

Once we were on the sidewalk, she dropped my arm, her face a storm of annoyance.

“What’s with the Mr. Forgiving act? Is this supposed to be charming?”

I frowned, genuinely confused by her shift in anger. I pulled a cigarette from my coat and lit it, tilting my head toward her.

“Your friends asked the questions to humiliate me. You’re mad at me? Besides, you did those things. Can’t handle the heat?”

That last line—Can’t handle the heat?—seemed to trigger something deep. Her eyes went flat and dark.

She had used those exact words on me the day I discovered her affair.

She’d claimed it was a dare, a game she lost, and that the sex was not willing. I had sobbed and screamed at her that day. She’d just impatiently lit a cigarette.

“God, are you really that dramatic? It was a lost game, a one-night thing. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

Back then, I couldn’t understand how Eliza could be so brazenly unremorseful. I demanded a divorce right then, refusing the easy out she offered.

But the next day, I understood everything. The reason she could be so calm, so entitled, was simple: she knew I was already hers.

I knocked on the doors of her high-rise law firm and knelt on the cold marble floor.

“Please, Eliza. Help my dad. Only you can get the verdict overturned.”

“I’m begging you.”

Eliza’s self-satisfaction was almost blinding. She gently helped me stand up.

“Dean, I told you. As long as you stay by my side, I can do anything for you.” She brushed dust off my knee. “I’ll handle the case. All you have to do is promise not to make a scene about Grant again.”

My eyes burned, but I swallowed the bitter, metallic taste of my own defeat and nodded.

If she could save my father, I would do anything.

My mind snapped back to the present. Eliza snatched the cigarette from my lips, threw it to the ground, and crushed it under her heel. She stared at me, then rubbed her temples with an air of deep fatigue.

“Fine. You better keep the act going.” She looked past my shoulder, then back at me, a strange expectation in her eyes. “Go home. I need to take Grant back to his place later.”

She was waiting for it—the familiar flash of jealousy, the old demand that she choose me over Grant. But she seemed to forget that every time I had argued with her about Grant over the years, she’d been annoyed.

“His parents entrusted him to me. Why are you so childish? Can you please stop being so dramatic?”

So now, I just nodded. No fuss. I turned and walked toward the street to hail a cab.

I could feel her stare burning a hole in my back. Just as I opened the taxi door, I paused and looked back. I caught the brief, hungry flash of hope in her eyes before I spoke.

I curved my lips into a thoughtful, solicitous smile.

“Get some rest. You have the court session tomorrow. Don’t forget what you promised me.”

2

Her eyes went instantly flat. The small curve of her mouth vanished, and she shot me a venomous glare before turning sharply and going back inside the bar.

I didn’t stay. I got in the cab and went straight to the holding facility.

The sight of my father behind the glass barrier was a physical punch. My chest tightened until I could barely breathe.

He was the same kind, gentle man I remembered. He looked at me, giving a strained, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright, Dean. Eliza is one of the top lawyers for cases like this, isn’t she? She’ll help me, right?” He paused, a strange, hollow relief in his eyes. “I don’t regret it, Dean. I actually feel… free.”

I looked at the bruises mottling his face, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I nodded repeatedly.

“She will, Dad. Eliza will get the verdict overturned.” I choked out the words. “When you’re finally out, we’ll live a good life, okay? A peaceful life.”

A peaceful life had been a luxurious, unattainable dream for my father. Since I was a child, my mother had cycled through affairs and subjected my father to relentless emotional and physical abuse.

He had filed for divorce countless times, only to be dragged back by her manipulations and threats.

The final straw had broken recently: he discovered that my mother had been actively encouraging Eliza to cheat on me, even setting her up with men.

“Are you even a mother? You’re telling your daughter-in-law to cheat! Have you no shame?” he’d screamed. “Eliza is not like you! She and Dean are genuinely in love! Stop projecting your toxic garbage onto her!”

“You just want her to cheat so you can say you didn’t do anything wrong, that all women are the same! Well, I’m telling you, it’s not happening!”

He and my mother got into a violent fight. He slammed the door and left. My mother suffered a massive, fatal heart attack immediately after.

The police ruled it intentional manslaughter. Throughout the entire city, only Eliza had the reputation and the skill to overturn the verdict.

For that, I agreed to pretend the reconciliation was real.

All I had to do now was wait for tomorrow.

After my father’s hopeful, shrinking figure disappeared, I lay in the cab all night, unable to sleep.

Grant posted a photo to his Instagram—a selfie of him and Eliza in the bar mirror.

I thought about it, then tapped the heart icon. A simple like.

There was no provocation in the action; I genuinely didn’t love Eliza anymore.

But she apparently didn’t see it that way. The phone rang instantly, her voice edged with a strange, hopeful arrogance.

“Jealous? Grant was just joking around with that post. If you don’t like it, I’ll tell him to take it down—”

“No.” I cut her off gently, my voice calm and soft. “Not jealous, not mad. I know you two are childhood friends. You can be as close as you want.”

I added, a polite finality in my tone, “Get some sleep. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow.”

I’d blocked her entirely with three simple sentences.

Her breathing deepened on the other end of the line. After a long silence, she let out a cold laugh. “Fine.”

I raised an eyebrow. I knew she was mad, but I didn’t know why.

I was being the perfect husband now. Mature, understanding.

I didn’t want to analyze it. I waited until dawn, but Eliza never showed.

The hearing was due to start any minute. I frantically called her, but her phone was off. Panicked, I rushed to her law firm, only to overhear words that froze me solid.

“Eliza? She left for the courthouse early this morning! The downtown one!”

“Her client? It was a Mr. Grant. She pushed aside all her other cases—all of them—just to help Mr. Grant. He claimed he found an object in his takeout and the restaurant refused to pay damages. She wanted to ‘get him justice.’”

“Honestly, I think she’s obsessed with Mr. Grant. For someone at her level to take a case like this? It’s completely beneath her. It’ll damage her reputation!”

I didn’t hear the rest. I charged out of the office.

Just a wall separated the two courtrooms.

In one, shouts of triumph: Grant had won. The merchant had been ordered to pay him a $50 compensation.

In the other: My father’s lawyer had failed to appear. The initial verdict was upheld—life imprisonment.

The despair on his face was agonizingly clear. Our eyes met, and he gave me a small, resigned smile, mouthing the words:

“It’s alright, Dean. As long as you’re happy, your father is content.”

The officers ushered my dad away, loading him onto the transport bus to the prison. I chased the bus for a few steps, then tripped and fell onto the asphalt. Blood blossomed from my scraped knees.

The pain brought tears pouring down my face.

“I’m sorry, Dad! Don’t leave me! Dad!”

“Woah! Isn’t that the cuck? What are you doing here, buddy?”

3

I spun around. Grant stood there, radiating the smug joy of victory, chin raised, smirking at me.

Eliza followed close behind him. She saw me, stopped short, and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

I struggled to my feet, my voice shaking uncontrollably.

“My father’s trial. Nine o’clock this morning.” My voice was a raw, painful scream in my throat. “Eliza, you promised me! Did you forget?!”

She glanced down at her phone, her frown deepening.

“Oh. I forgot to tell you. Grant had an emergency case, and I had to help him.” She started toward me, reaching out. “Your dad? Did it wrap up?”

“It’s fine, I’ll file an appeal later. I told you, I’ll definitely help you—”

SMACK!

I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. The sound cracked in the air, catching Eliza completely off guard. Her face went instantly white with fury.

“What the hell was that, Dean!”

I was swaying, barely able to keep myself upright. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to anchor me to reality, and forced out a whisper.

“A $50 consumer dispute… was more important than my father’s freedom? More important than the man who is now going to jail for the rest of his life?”

“Stop being so utterly ridiculous!” Eliza snapped, cutting me off, impatience blazing in her eyes. “What is there to compare?”

“Grant was pursuing legal recourse for a genuine grievance. Your father belongs in jail! I’m going out of my way to help you, which is more than you deserve!”

The words exploded in my mind, a sonic boom of realization. The woman standing before me, speaking such ugly things, was a stranger.

I remembered the day she found out about my dysfunctional, abusive family background. She had held up her finger and sworn a solemn oath to me:

“You and your father are the victims, Dean. You have nothing to feel guilty about. I became a lawyer to fight for people exactly like you!”

“More than that, you are the man I love. Your father is my father. I will fight tooth and nail for his justice!”

But now, she was calling him a man who belongs in jail—all to protect Grant.

Grant’s voice cut in, adding fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, exactly! Your father should face the consequences! He killed someone!” He sneered. “Like father, like son. You’ll probably do something insane one day, too! You’re terrifying!”

“Eliza, don’t help his dad! The mother wouldn’t have cheated or been abusive if the father and son weren’t already messed up, right? They’re the real problem—”

CRASH!

I launched a kick into Grant’s stomach, sending him sprawling. I went insane, swinging my fists wildly.

A second later, a heavy kick slammed into my ribs. I crumpled, clutching my abdomen, and coughed up a spray of blood.

Eliza, who had been helping Grant up, froze when she saw the blood pouring from my mouth. She instinctively reached for her phone to call an ambulance, but Grant seized her hand.

“Eliza! Don’t fall for it!” He spat the words out. “He probably hid a blood pack in his mouth! He’s trying to guilt you, the same tricks his dad used!”

“His dad sold the family home and borrowed money to fund your firm, didn’t he? It was all manipulative! That whole family is twisted!”

I gritted my teeth, lifting my bloodshot eyes.

I watched as Eliza slowly withdrew her hands. She looked down at me, her expression cold and remote.

“Grant is right. You shouldn’t have hit him.” She didn’t offer a hand. “Go cool off, Dean. When you’re ready to apologize to Grant, I’ll reconsider your father’s appeal.”

“Otherwise? Let him stay in jail for life.”

The physical pain, coupled with the crushing emotional impact of her words, was too much. As they walked away, side-by-side, I blacked out.

When I woke, a kind stranger had brought me to the hospital. Punctured lung. I was lucky to be alive.

The phone vibrated. I answered, and in that instant, I wished I had died instead.

4

I dragged my fragile, aching body out of the cab. By the time I arrived, my father’s body had already been transferred to the crematorium.

The lead officer regretfully explained the details to me.

“He jumped from the transport vehicle on the way to the prison. A truck hit him instantly.”

“He died on impact. Couldn’t be saved.”

The officer paused, her face heavy with sorrow. “Your father spoke with us just before we left. He said he didn’t regret arguing with your mother that day, because at least it guaranteed your happiness.”

“He also said… he hoped you and your wife would be happy together. That he was very content.”

Legally, the police didn’t have to tell me any of this. But my father’s case had been highly publicized, and the public—including this officer—was largely on his side. She looked at me with deep pity and told me to accept my sorrow.

I stood there, rigid, holding the box of ashes still warm from the furnace. My throat was squeezed shut, unable to produce a sound or swallow a single tear.

The tears fell, hot and silent.

I completed all the paperwork for his death, numbly carrying the heavy box out.

I had barely reached the corner when I heard Grant’s voice, a screech of rage.

“Dean! Did you do this?!”

“How did you know I lied about the takeout contamination? How did you know I always returned clothes without taking the tags off? You exposed me, didn’t you?!”

“Now all the merchants are coming after me for compensation! You think this will ruin me?!”

“I’m telling you, it won’t work! Eliza will defend me! She’ll take the case for free, even if she has to pay me to do it!”

“You want me to lose? Never!”

He shoved me hard. The cardboard box flew from my grasp and hit the pavement.

The ashes spilled, mixing instantly with a patch of rainwater. He lunged, planting his heel down, twisting and grinding my father’s remains into the dirt while cursing me to hell.

Eliza stood nearby, watching his monstrous actions without interference.

She was looking at me with a profound, bitter disappointment, her voice laced with disgust.

“Dean, how did you become like this?”

“You told me you understood my career, my ethics! Why are you using these low-class, trashy tactics to bully Grant?”

“You used to be dramatic in the open! You never stooped to this underhanded garbage! It makes me sick!”

I stared at the barely concealed triumph on Grant’s face and understood everything. He’d done it on purpose.

But I didn’t expose him. I just reached into my jacket, pulled out the divorce papers I’d prepared weeks ago, and held them out.

“Then sign it. We’re getting divorced.”

“If we stay married, I’ll just keep using these ‘trashy’ methods to mess with Grant. You don’t want to see that, do you?”

The quiet finality in my eyes seemed to stab her. She hesitated for a moment.

Then, she composed herself, tore the papers to shreds, and laughed coldly.

“You think it’s that easy to leave?”

“Unless you publicly apologize to Grant and clear his name, I will never sign those papers! You have to pay for your actions!”

“Of course, you can sue me, but you should know—”

“I’m the lawyer, Dean.”

The threat in her voice was stark, her gaze utterly certain of her advantage.

My heart was numb, my body devoid of feeling. I looked down at the ashes that were now just a paste of mud and sorrow, and I smiled.

“Alright.”

“Let’s find out.”

I carefully scooped up what little I could of the ashes, turned, and walked away. As I walked, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my childhood friend and former lawyer rival, Mia, who had just returned from overseas.

“Send me your location. I’m on my way.”