Dragging my feet out, my heart was filled with bitterness and embarrassment. It seemed Betty was really angry; she hadn't even explained to the janitor that I was her husband, perhaps she didn't want to lose face by revealing my identity.
This was a disaster. This was the first time since our marriage that things had gotten this tense, and I had no idea how to smooth things over.
But thankfully, Betty only thought I suspected her of cheating with another man. If she knew I suspected her of cheating with Michael, she might have been furious enough to slap me.
Betty would never know what I was thinking about her and Michael. At this moment, she probably hadn't even considered such a thing; in her heart, Michael was like a son to her.
After I left the office building, I looked ahead and still couldn't see Michael and Betty. I had been walking slowly, weighed down by my own gloom, while Betty and Michael had hurried off. Were they already waiting by the car? The car keys were with me, so they couldn't have opened the car without them.
Compelled by a sudden urgency, I sprinted towards my car. But when I got there, I found that Betty and Michael were not waiting by the car. It was impossible for Betty not to notice our car since it was parked right at the school's main entrance, clearly visible as soon as you stepped out.
Turning my head, I glanced towards the nearby bus stop and saw Betty leading Michael onto a bus, leaving behind only their receding figures.
The bus drove away, and I unlocked my car, but I didn't start it. At that moment, I felt a wave of fear about returning home. Betty had held back in the school because the janitor had shown up unexpectedly. What would happen when we got home? How would I explain myself? Well, I thought, I'll just have to deal with whatever comes my way.
I started the car and headed home. The bus had left five or six minutes before I did, and since the school wasn't far from our house, by the time I reached our building, the lights in our apartment were already on. Betty and Michael had clearly gotten home before me.
Standing downstairs, I hesitated, my mind racing. Then I remembered the feast I had prepared earlier that afternoon—surely, seeing all that effort on the table would soften Betty's anger.
Bolstered by this thought, I mustered my courage and climbed the stairs to our apartment. Reaching our door, I pressed my ear against it, listening for any sounds of dinner being eaten, but heard nothing. Bracing myself, I opened the door.
To my disappointment, the scene before me was disheartening. The dishes were untouched on the table, the utensils unmoved.
Had Betty not come back? I saw Betty and Michael's shoes and clothes changed, confirming they were home. I took off my shoes and looked around the empty living room, then checked our bedroom, but found no one.
The light was on in Michael's bedroom. They must be in there. Maybe Betty was sulking and didn't want to see me.
I walked to Michael's bedroom door, placed my hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and pressed down. But the door didn't open; it was locked from the inside.
At that moment, I let go of all the wild thoughts that had been troubling me, realizing I might have misunderstood Betty entirely.
Since the door wouldn't open, I knocked firmly. After a moment, the door opened. Michael was sitting at his new desk, working on his homework, and Betty was sitting on the bed next to him, seemingly supervising his work. Her eyes were a bit red, as if she had just been crying.
"Let's eat, I made all this when I got back this afternoon." I didn't really know what to say. Even though I'm a journalist, facing this kind of situation at home was new to me, and I felt a bit out of my depth.
"Michael, go ahead and eat..." Betty said without looking at me, her voice gentle as she spoke to Michael, urging him to eat.
"What about you, Mom?" Michael didn't look at me either; his eyes were on Betty.
"I'm not eating, just go ahead..." Betty softly touched Michael's hair as she spoke.
"If you're not eating, I'm not eating either..." Michael turned his head back down to his homework.
"Alright, Mom will eat, come eat with me..." Seeing Michael's stubbornness, Betty sighed, got up from the bed, and pulled Michael along. Michael put down his pen and stood up, walking out with Betty. I stepped aside at the doorway.
There I was, rooted to the spot. It wasn't happiness that Betty finally agreed to eat that gripped me, but Michael's use of "Mom." Before I left, he had always called Betty "teacher." What had changed in just these seven days? It seemed their relationship had grown much closer, and a lot had happened...