A Shower of Petals
Language: en
At my mother’s birthday dinner, my wife, Isabelle, uncorked the bottle of Macallan she’d brought. As she raised her glass for a toast, her voice cut through the quiet chatter. "You know, Mom," she began, a small, curious smile on her lips, "I’ve always wondered." "What’s your secret? How on earth did you manage to raise a son like Alex? So spineless, so selfish, and so utterly oblivious to it all." My mother’s hand, holding her glass, trembled slightly. I calmly placed my napkin on the table. "I agree to the divorce."