Dad raised his wineglass while everyone around the table laughed.
“Forty-five years,” he said proudly. “And I walked away without losing a single yuan.”
His friends applauded.
Liu Yuan sat beside him, smiling as though she had already become the new mistress of the house.
Then the doorbell rang.
Dad frowned.
“Who ordered something?”
No one answered.
The bell rang again.
I walked toward the door, but Mom’s words suddenly echoed in my head.
“Seven more days. Remember to receive delivery.”
My hand froze on the handle.
Outside stood a courier holding a thick document envelope.
“Delivery for Mr. Chen.”
Dad waved impatiently.
“Bring it here.”
The moment he saw the sender printed across the envelope, however, his smile disappeared.
It was from a law firm.
“What is this?”
He tore it open.
Several documents slipped onto the table.
I saw property records.
Bank statements.
Old contracts.
And a letter printed on expensive cream-colored paper.
Dad read the first page.
His face slowly turned pale.
Liu Yuan leaned closer.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he grabbed the second page.
Then the third.
His hands began trembling.
Finally, he looked at me.
“Where is your mother?”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“CALL HER!”
The entire dining room fell silent.
The confident man who had spent the previous week celebrating his freedom suddenly looked as though someone had pulled the ground from beneath his feet.
I picked up one of the papers.
At the top was the name of an investment company I had never heard of.
Below it was Mom’s name.
And beside that…
A number.
I counted the zeros twice.
Then a third time.
My mouth went dry.
“Dad…”
He snatched the document from my hand.
“This is impossible.”
One of his friends cautiously asked, “President Chen, what exactly happened?”
Dad ignored him.
He dialed Mom.
Once.
No answer.
Twice.
Still nothing.
By the fifth call, sweat had appeared on his forehead.
Liu Yuan finally grabbed the papers herself.
Her expression changed instantly.
“Didn’t you tell me she was just an ordinary employee?”
“She is!”
“Then explain this!”
She slammed the document onto the table.
That was when I understood.
For forty-five years, Dad had believed Mom survived on her 4,000-yuan salary.
But he had forgotten something.
Mom never asked him for money.
Not once.
Even when she emptied her savings to help me buy my first home, she never borrowed from him.
Where had that money really come from?
The answer was sitting inside the envelope.
Decades earlier, before marrying Dad, Mom had inherited a small stake in a struggling logistics company from her grandfather.
Dad had apparently known about it.
What he didn’t know was that Mom had never sold those shares.
The company had expanded.
Merged.
Gone public.
And Mom had quietly reinvested every dividend.
While Dad spent millions proving how successful he was, Mom had spent forty-five years allowing compound growth to do its work.
But that wasn’t what terrified him most.
There was another document.
Dad stared at it for almost a minute.
Then whispered:
“No…”
I reached for it.
It concerned the house.
The same house Dad had repeatedly claimed belonged entirely to him.
The property was indeed registered under his name.
But the land beneath it wasn’t.
Decades ago, when the neighborhood was still undeveloped, Mom’s family had owned several parcels there.
Dad had built the house on one of them under a long-term family agreement he apparently never bothered to examine carefully.
The agreement had now expired.
Seven days after their divorce.
Today.
Dad’s phone suddenly rang.
He answered immediately.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice came through loudly enough for several of us to hear.
“Mr. Chen, I’m calling regarding the property notice delivered today. The landowner has formally declined renewal.”
Dad’s lips turned white.
“What do you mean declined?”
“The structure and land rights now require legal resolution according to the original agreement. You should contact your attorney.”
Dad nearly dropped the phone.
Then another notification appeared.
And another.
His expression became increasingly desperate.
Liu Yuan stood up.
“What about the villa?”
Dad said nothing.
“The villa you promised we’d buy after selling this house.”
Silence.
She stared at him for three seconds.
Then grabbed her handbag.
“Liu Yuan!”
She walked toward the door.
“Wait!”
She didn’t.
The door slammed behind her.
Nobody at the table laughed anymore.
Dad immediately called Mom again.
This time she answered.
He put the phone on speaker without realizing it.
“Where are you?”
Mom’s voice came calmly through the phone.
“At dinner.”
“With whom?”
“That stopped being your concern seven days ago.”
Dad swallowed.
“About these documents…”
“You received the delivery?”
Mom asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That single word seemed to humiliate him more than any insult could have.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mom was silent for a moment.
Then she laughed softly.
“Tell you what?”
“That you had money!”
“Why should I?”
“We were husband and wife!”
Mom’s voice remained perfectly calm.
“Interesting.”
Dad froze.
“For forty-five years,” Mom continued, “whenever I needed money, you told me we were financially independent.”
“When our daughter needed tuition, you paid exactly half.”
“When I was hospitalized, you calculated which expenses belonged to me.”
“When the refrigerator broke, you asked me to transfer half before you agreed to replace it.”
“You taught me something very clearly.”
“What belongs to you is yours.”
“And what belongs to me…”
She paused.
“Is mine.”
Dad couldn’t speak.
Then Mom added:
“And you signed the divorce agreement confirming exactly that.”
Dad suddenly lowered himself into a chair.
His face looked ten years older.
But Mom wasn’t finished.
“Oh, one more thing.”
Dad tightened his grip on the phone.
“What?”
“Tomorrow morning, someone else will make another delivery.”
His eyes widened.
“What delivery?”
This time Mom’s voice carried the faint smile I had seen outside the Civil Affairs Department.
“The one that explains why I waited forty-five years to divorce you.”
The call ended.
Dad stared at the dark screen.
And for the first time in my entire life…
I saw fear in his eyes.
