The Ghost in My House Was Me - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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By the time I finish drafting the divorce papers, evening shadows are stretching across my desk.
Kevin still hasn't brought Tommy home.
My mind automatically jumps to Tommy's unfinished homework—then I catch myself and slap my own cheek hard.
"Get a grip, Mom. Be as ruthless as his father."
My phone rings. It's Kevin's number, but the voice on the other end is hers—the woman from that night.
"Sis… Kevin's too wasted to get home. Can you come pick him up?"
"Why can't you? Aren't you two close?"
My eyes flick to the divorce agreement on the table. I exhale sharply.
"Forget it. I'll be there."
I hang up and bolt to the private room.
The place is packed—strangers, mostly, except for her. But the way they all stare at me? Like I'm the failure here. The neglectful wife.
Kevin's slumped in the center, face flushed, tipping back an empty glass like it's still full. Tommy's wedged beside him.
His backpack's dumped on the floor. A woman in a barely-there dress has him half in her lap, whispering god-knows-what into his ear.
So this is his idea of parenting. No wonder my years of raising Tommy can't compete with his fun dad weekends.
Before I even step inside, Tommy shrieks.
"Dad, I don't wanna go with Mom! She'll make me do homework again!"
He thrashes like I'm some monster. Kevin finally pretends to sober up enough to slur, "Don't worry, buddy. Daddy's got you."
Then the peanut gallery chimes in:
"Cut Kevin some slack, sis. He's been crashing at my place for two months because of you."
"Yeah, mine too. My wife was pissed."
The woman guarding Kevin adds, "He talks about you and Tommy all the time. He misses you."
That's when it clicks.
This wasn't about fetching Kevin.
They want me to break. To beg on my knees for him to come home.
I laugh—cold, sharp.
"Oh, poor Kevin. Stuck suffering at your places, drinking and partying. Must be so hard." My voice drops to a razor's edge. "If it's that miserable, let's trade. You stay home with the kid. I'll go 'suffer' at bars."
I lock eyes with Kevin. "Stop faking. We can do this here—or privately. Your call."
The woman clinging to him pales. "Sis, it's not what you think—"
"Not what I think?" He was seconds from cheating. And when I asked questions? The silent treatment for months.
Kevin stays quiet, jaw clenched.
He glances at Tommy, who trudges toward me—shoulders slumped, but eyes darting back to Kevin, begging for a reprieve.
One more hour. One more game. No homework.
And just like that, I'm the villain again. The nagging wife ruining the fun.
Fine.
I yank the divorce papers from my bag and slap them on the table.
Let's end this.
Kevin still hasn't brought Tommy home.
My mind automatically jumps to Tommy's unfinished homework—then I catch myself and slap my own cheek hard.
"Get a grip, Mom. Be as ruthless as his father."
My phone rings. It's Kevin's number, but the voice on the other end is hers—the woman from that night.
"Sis… Kevin's too wasted to get home. Can you come pick him up?"
"Why can't you? Aren't you two close?"
My eyes flick to the divorce agreement on the table. I exhale sharply.
"Forget it. I'll be there."
I hang up and bolt to the private room.
The place is packed—strangers, mostly, except for her. But the way they all stare at me? Like I'm the failure here. The neglectful wife.
Kevin's slumped in the center, face flushed, tipping back an empty glass like it's still full. Tommy's wedged beside him.
His backpack's dumped on the floor. A woman in a barely-there dress has him half in her lap, whispering god-knows-what into his ear.
So this is his idea of parenting. No wonder my years of raising Tommy can't compete with his fun dad weekends.
Before I even step inside, Tommy shrieks.
"Dad, I don't wanna go with Mom! She'll make me do homework again!"
He thrashes like I'm some monster. Kevin finally pretends to sober up enough to slur, "Don't worry, buddy. Daddy's got you."
Then the peanut gallery chimes in:
"Cut Kevin some slack, sis. He's been crashing at my place for two months because of you."
"Yeah, mine too. My wife was pissed."
The woman guarding Kevin adds, "He talks about you and Tommy all the time. He misses you."
That's when it clicks.
This wasn't about fetching Kevin.
They want me to break. To beg on my knees for him to come home.
I laugh—cold, sharp.
"Oh, poor Kevin. Stuck suffering at your places, drinking and partying. Must be so hard." My voice drops to a razor's edge. "If it's that miserable, let's trade. You stay home with the kid. I'll go 'suffer' at bars."
I lock eyes with Kevin. "Stop faking. We can do this here—or privately. Your call."
The woman clinging to him pales. "Sis, it's not what you think—"
"Not what I think?" He was seconds from cheating. And when I asked questions? The silent treatment for months.
Kevin stays quiet, jaw clenched.
He glances at Tommy, who trudges toward me—shoulders slumped, but eyes darting back to Kevin, begging for a reprieve.
One more hour. One more game. No homework.
And just like that, I'm the villain again. The nagging wife ruining the fun.
Fine.
I yank the divorce papers from my bag and slap them on the table.
Let's end this.
End of The Ghost in My House Was Me Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to The Ghost in My House Was Me book page.