Part 2Fifty Dollars For A Life

Her eyes went instantly flat. The small curve of her mouth vanished, and she shot me a venomous glare before turning sharply and going back inside the bar.

I didn’t stay. I got in the cab and went straight to the holding facility.

The sight of my father behind the glass barrier was a physical punch. My chest tightened until I could barely breathe.

He was the same kind, gentle man I remembered. He looked at me, giving a strained, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright, Dean. Eliza is one of the top lawyers for cases like this, isn’t she? She’ll help me, right?” He paused, a strange, hollow relief in his eyes. “I don’t regret it, Dean. I actually feel... free.”

I looked at the bruises mottling his face, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I nodded repeatedly.

“She will, Dad. Eliza will get the verdict overturned.” I choked out the words. “When you’re finally out, we’ll live a good life, okay? A peaceful life.”

A peaceful life had been a luxurious, unattainable dream for my father. Since I was a child, my mother had cycled through affairs and subjected my father to relentless emotional and physical abuse.

He had filed for divorce countless times, only to be dragged back by her manipulations and threats.

The final straw had broken recently: he discovered that my mother had been actively encouraging Eliza to cheat on me, even setting her up with men.

“Are you even a mother? You’re telling your daughter-in-law to cheat! Have you no shame?” he’d screamed. “Eliza is not like you! She and Dean are genuinely in love! Stop projecting your toxic garbage onto her!”

“You just want her to cheat so you can say you didn’t do anything wrong, that all women are the same! Well, I’m telling you, it’s not happening!”

He and my mother got into a violent fight. He slammed the door and left. My mother suffered a massive, fatal heart attack immediately after.

The police ruled it intentional manslaughter. Throughout the entire city, only Eliza had the reputation and the skill to overturn the verdict.

For that, I agreed to pretend the reconciliation was real.

All I had to do now was wait for tomorrow.

After my father’s hopeful, shrinking figure disappeared, I lay in the cab all night, unable to sleep.

Grant posted a photo to his Instagram—a selfie of him and Eliza in the bar mirror.

I thought about it, then tapped the heart icon. A simple like.

There was no provocation in the action; I genuinely didn’t love Eliza anymore.

But she apparently didn’t see it that way. The phone rang instantly, her voice edged with a strange, hopeful arrogance.

“Jealous? Grant was just joking around with that post. If you don’t like it, I’ll tell him to take it down—”

“No.” I cut her off gently, my voice calm and soft. “Not jealous, not mad. I know you two are childhood friends. You can be as close as you want.”

I added, a polite finality in my tone, “Get some sleep. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow.”

I’d blocked her entirely with three simple sentences.

Her breathing deepened on the other end of the line. After a long silence, she let out a cold laugh. “Fine.”

I raised an eyebrow. I knew she was mad, but I didn’t know why.

I was being the perfect husband now. Mature, understanding.

I didn’t want to analyze it. I waited until dawn, but Eliza never showed.

The hearing was due to start any minute. I frantically called her, but her phone was off. Panicked, I rushed to her law firm, only to overhear words that froze me solid.

“Eliza? She left for the courthouse early this morning! The downtown one!”

“Her client? It was a Mr. Grant. She pushed aside all her other cases—all of them—just to help Mr. Grant. He claimed he found an object in his takeout and the restaurant refused to pay damages. She wanted to ‘get him justice.’”

“Honestly, I think she’s obsessed with Mr. Grant. For someone at her level to take a case like this? It’s completely beneath her. It’ll damage her reputation!”

I didn’t hear the rest. I charged out of the office.

Just a wall separated the two courtrooms.

In one, shouts of triumph: Grant had won. The merchant had been ordered to pay him a $50 compensation.

In the other: My father’s lawyer had failed to appear. The initial verdict was upheld—life imprisonment.

The despair on his face was agonizingly clear. Our eyes met, and he gave me a small, resigned smile, mouthing the words:

“It’s alright, Dean. As long as you’re happy, your father is content.”

The officers ushered my dad away, loading him onto the transport bus to the prison. I chased the bus for a few steps, then tripped and fell onto the asphalt. Blood blossomed from my scraped knees.

The pain brought tears pouring down my face.

“I’m sorry, Dad! Don’t leave me! Dad!”

“Woah! Isn’t that the cuck? What are you doing here, buddy?”