Chapter 8 - The Severing

Brenda stepped backward, her heel catching slightly on the edge of the rug. "Thomas... I was stressed. You don't understand how hard it is to care for him all day while you're at work! I snapped. It was a mistake. Let’s just calm down and—"
"A mistake is dropping a glass," Thomas interrupted, his voice devoid of anger, which made it far more terrifying. "A mistake is forgetting to turn off the stove. Forcing a seventy-four-year-old man onto the floor and putting a dog in his chair is not a mistake. It is cruelty. It is calculated malice."
Thomas walked past her, heading down the hallway toward their master bedroom. Brenda hurried after him, her panic escalating as she heard the sound of wardrobe doors sliding open.
When she reached the bedroom door, she found Thomas pulling her leather suitcases from the top shelf of the closet. With methodical, unhurried movements, he tossed them onto the bed and unzipped them.
"What are you doing?!" Brenda screamed, her voice cracking. "Stop! This is my house too!"
"Not anymore," Thomas said, opening her dresser drawers and dumping piles of designer clothes into the open luggage. "I tolerated your vanity. I tolerated your laziness. I tolerated your endless demands for more money, more clothes, more status. But the moment you treated my father like an animal, our marriage ended."
"You can't do this! I will take everything in the divorce! I will take the house, your pension, every dime you earn!" she shrieked, clawing at his arm to stop him.
Thomas paused. He looked down at her hand gripping his forearm, then slowly met her gaze. His expression was so cold, so profoundly detached, that she reflexively recoiled, pulling her hands back as if she had touched dry ice.
"Call your lawyer," Thomas said calmly. "Tell him how you forced an invalid veteran onto the kitchen floor while you fed chicken to a dog. I have security cameras in the dining room, Brenda. I installed them last month when my father fell. Everything that happened today is saved on the cloud."
Brenda froze. Her jaw slackened, the color completely draining from her face until she looked like a ghost draped in red silk.
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"Pack your bags," Thomas commanded softly. "Or I will carry them out to the lawn myself."
***