Rain poured down heavily, drenching Robert Cruise as he stood outside the Brown family villa. His hands were bleeding from the labor at the construction site. Yet here he was, soaked, shivering, and still holding the last five dollars he earned that day.
He held a soggy paper bag in his hands, inside was a prescription drug his sister needed for the night. It was all he could afford from overtime hauling bricks at the construction site. He knocked on the ornate door.
After a moment, it swung open. Tracy Brown, his mother-in-law, wrinkled her nose in disgust. "What the hell are you doing here like a drowned rat?"
Robert bowed his head slightly. "I… I came to see Roseline. It's about Jenna's health, the doctors said she needs—"
"I don't care!" Tracy snapped. "You're always crying about that sick sister of yours. You think our family is your personal charity?"
Behind her, his wife Roseline Brown appeared, arms crossed. She was dressed in a short black cocktail dress, hair done up in curls, clearly about to head out.
"What do you want, Robert?" she asked, sounding tired, almost annoyed. "Didn't I tell you not to come uninvited?"
"I'm your husband…" Robert murmured.
"You're disgusting, Robert. What woman would want a man like you? You have no money, no background, no future. Look at how filthy you are."
Her brother, Eric Brown, stepped into view, already cracking his knuckles. "Didn't I tell you not to show your face here again?"
"I need just a little help, my sister is in the hospital, and…" Before Robert could finish, Eric swung his fist.
CRACK!
Robert stumbled back as Eric punched him square in the face. He landed hard on the tiled porch, the paper bag bursting beside him and the drugs meant for Jenna's treatment rolled into the rainwater.
"Eric!" he groaned, holding his side in pain.
Eric kicked him in the ribs. "How dare you show your face here again?! After everything we gave you?"
"You think a loser like you deserves our money? You've lived under our roof for three years and haven't brought a damn thing to this family." Tracy sneered. "You know what? Enough of this. Eric, throw him out."
Robert struggled to his feet as blood trickled down his lip. "Please… I'll leave. Just let me speak to Roseline."
Roseline stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed under the villa's porch.
"You don't deserve my time. You couldn't even afford to buy me a dress for my birthday. And today, you want to beg for your sick sister? How miserable."
Robert kept begging. "Please, Jenna is dying. She has only a few days to live—"
"And I have a date to get to," Roseline snapped. "I'm done pretending. Robert Cruise, I want a divorce right now."
Robert halted as his eyes went wide. "You… what?"
"I'm not joking," she continued. "The papers are ready. Sign them, and disappear from my life for good."
Robert reached out to hold her leg. "Please, don't do this to me. I promise—"
Roseline yanked her leg away in disgust. "Don't touch me. I want a divorce right now." She threw a divorce file at his feet. "The papers have been signed by me. All that's left is your signature.
Robert bent down slowly, picked it up with trembling hands. His name was there. So was hers and her signature was signed, except for his.
He stared at her, stunned. "You promised you'd stand by me."
"That was before I realized you're a bottom-feeder," she spat. "The Brown family is ashamed to have ever taken you in."
Eric grabbed his shirt, shoving him down the front steps. "We gave you shelter, food, and a name. Now get lost."
Thunder roared above as Robert landed face-first in the mud, holding the divorce papers.
The front door slammed shut behind him, and Robert sat alone, broken and bloodied. Rain dripped from Robert's chin as he opened the folder. His name was there. Her signature, too. Roseline Brown.
Then he picked up a pen from the floor, signed his signature, and dropped the pen.
Without a word, he stood slowly turned, and walked away, leaving the signed divorce papers fluttering in the wind behind him.
By the time Robert reached the construction site where he worked part-time, his clothes were stuck to his body like wet rags. His side still ached from Eric's kick.
He pushed open the site manager's door, finding Mr. Clark, the bald, overweight foreman, eating noodles at his desk.
"Mr. Clark, please," Robert began, wiping his face. "I know my shift ended, but I need an advance. Just $200… My sister, she's—"
Mr. Clark didn't even look up. "Thank goodness you showed up at the right time."
"What do you mean?" Robert asked hesitantly.
"I was gonna text you," Clark said, slurping loudly. "We don't need you anymore."
"You—What?" Robert blurted.
"You're fired," Clark said bluntly. "New guys came in and they are younger, faster, and stronger than you. You're weak Robert. You collapsed twice last week."
"But I worked overtime. I hauled more cement than—"
"Still a liability," Clark cut in. "We're done here. Clean out your locker."
Robert stared at the man in disbelief. "At least pay me for this week. I need—"
Clark wiped his mouth with a napkin and pointed at the small wall clock. "Your shift ended an hour ago. You're not on my payroll anymore. You're not getting a dime."
Robert felt the last thread of hope in his chest snap. He backed out of the office, stumbling into the rain again.
He was penniless, divorced, fired and his little sister was dying.
He stood alone beside the scaffolding, gripping the edge of a rusted pole to keep himself from collapsing.
Tears mixed with rainwater ran down his cheek as he looked up at the stormy sky. "Is this it? Is this how I die? Poor, useless, and worthless?"
Just then, a calm and respectful voice called out from the corner. Almost out of place in the hell he was in.
"Young Master?"
Robert turned his head slowly. An old man in a black coat stood beside a black Rolls-Royce with an umbrella in one hand.
"I've been searching for you for a long time."