[One Week Later]
Over the past week, things had gone suspiciously well for once. The kind of well that made Charlie keep checking over his shoulder like the universe was playing a long con.
Lisa had officially started her new job at the university. First day jitters gave way to quiet confidence as she slid into the principal role with more authority than even she expected. Despite a few awkward "you look too young to be in charge" comments from the faculty, she handled it with her usual mix of sharp wit and absolute zero tolerance for nonsense. She even reorganized part of the academic calendar and managed not to punch anyone, which was considered a win.
Charlie, inspired by Lisa's new gig and possibly fueled by the caffeine overdose he refused to acknowledge, got serious about his music. He sent out demos of his more heartfelt songs to several recording studios, playing the long game while still writing jingles on the side to keep the money flowing. His latest? A peppy, borderline hypnotic jingle for a milk brand. The tagline: "Moo-re Than Milk. It's a Moooood." It was dumb, catchy, and already stuck in Berta's head, much to her growing rage.
Alan, meanwhile, had stayed mostly out of trouble. Mostly. He was on a one-man charm offensive, trying everything short of interpretive dance to sweet-talk Judith into letting him see Jake again. He even brought flowers, a handmade apology card, and a coupon book of favors like "One Free Lawn Mow – No Complaining" and "Will Not Mention Kale for 30 Days." So far, she hadn't burned them, which Alan considered a sign of progress.
Berta kept the household running like a snarky general. Her bleach stockpile had doubled since Alan's stay began, but she hadn't physically thrown anyone out yet, which Charlie chalked up to progress or maybe exhaustion.
And then there was Rose.
Strangely, almost eerily, she hadn't appeared. No surprise visits. No cryptic voicemails. No stalking. It was the longest stretch of Rose-free days in recent memory. Charlie wasn't sure if she'd moved on or if she was building a secret underground bunker somewhere with a shrine of his face made out of hair. He didn't ask. He didn't want to know.
For now, everything felt... calm.
Which, in Charlie Harper's world, meant chaos was absolutely around the corner. But for this week, at least, they were okay.
And for the first time in a long while, that was enough.
...
[Morning] [Charlie's Room]
Lisa lay half on top of Charlie, her fingers idly tracing circles on his bare chest. Her hair was a mess. His was worse. Both were breathless, grinning like teenagers who'd just broken into the liquor cabinet and gotten away with it.
"Mmm," Lisa murmured against his jaw. "That counts as cardio, right?"
Charlie kissed her shoulder. "That was round two. We've officially hit 'athlete' status."
She laughed and moved on top of him again, straddling his waist. "Think we've got one more in us before the world wakes up?"
Her big boobs were right before his eyes, ready for another round of squeezing and sucking. His cock was already standing up despite two rounds in a row. She was grabbing that hard and sloppy cock while slowly stroaking it and rubbing it on her butt with a slutty smile.
Lisa in Charlie's eyes looked like a sex angel.
He was about to respond with something smug and vaguely inappropriate when a sharp knock hit the bedroom door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Charlie froze.
Lisa collapsed on his chest with a groan. "You've got to be kidding me."
Another knock.
"Charlie?" Alan's voice came through the door. "Can we talk? It's important."
Charlie stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him.
Lisa rolled off him, pulling the sheet over her chest. "You should probably answer that before he starts crying or does something stupid. Again. The beach is near."
Charlie muttered something about divine punishment, grabbed his boxers off the floor, and stumbled toward the door with the grace of a man who had been seconds away from bliss.
He cracked it open just wide enough to see Alan's desperate face.
Charlie squinted. "Alan. It's six in the morning. And you interrupted a fun moment for the fourth time. If this isn't life or death, I will slam this door so hard you'll lose custody of your soul."
Alan stood in the hallway like a ghost haunting his own life, wearing pajama pants with ducks on them and a shirt that said "WORLD'S OKAYEST HUSBAND" — cruel irony now. In his hand, slightly crumpled and already tear-stained, was a white envelope.
Charlie eyed it like it might explode.
"What is that?" he asked, keeping the door half-shut behind him, both to preserve Lisa's modesty and his sanity.
Alan held it up slowly, like it was radioactive. "It's from Judith's lawyers."
Charlie blinked. "Okay. Well, unless it's an invitation to a surprise birthday party where she jumps out of a cake and yells, 'I forgive you,' I don't care."
Alan's voice cracked. "It's divorce papers."
Charlie exhaled. Long. Slow. Deep. Then stared at Alan for a solid five seconds without blinking.
Alan didn't stop. "Twelve years. Gone. Just like that."
"You're shocked?" Charlie asked. "She's been trying to psychologically divorce you since she found out you proposed to another girl before her. She rejected you, so in desperation, you married her. What do you expect? A medal?"
Alan ignored the sarcasm and pushed the letter into Charlie's hand like it was cursed.
"Just read it," Alan said, voice hollow.
Charlie opened the envelope reluctantly, squinting at the header. Big bold law firm name. Formal phrasing. Sentences like "irreconcilable differences" and "mutual legal separation" and "division of assets to be negotiated pending mediation."
He skimmed further.
She was asking for the house. The car. Jake's full custody. Visitation on weekends if he behaved.
There was also a section labeled "Psychological damages and emotional distress caused by continued cohabitation following skunk-related incident and physical assault."
Charlie let out a low whistle. "She really covered all the bases. Even the accidental attack."
Alan leaned his forehead against the doorframe. "I knew things were bad. I just… I didn't think it would happen now. I thought we were making progress."
Charlie handed the letter back. "Yeah. You were making coupon books. She was calling attorneys."
Alan's eyes were red. "She wants everything, Charlie. The house, Jake, child support, and even my electric toothbrush. Who takes someone's toothbrush, Charlie?"
Charlie scratched his chest, sighed. He closed the door for a moment and looked at Lisa.
"Go on. He's going through a rough time," She said with a sigh.
"I am going through a rough time," He pointed at his boner. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Haaa... Fine."
He stepped into the hallway, gently closing the bedroom door behind him. Lisa's soft sigh echoed from the bed, followed by the rustle of sheets. He winced. He was probably gonna owe her pancakes. Again.
"Alright," he said, rubbing his temples. "Let's go downstairs before you sob on the carpet and Berta claims emotional hazard pay."
..
[Kitchen – Ten Minutes Later]
Berta was already there, standing at the stove, flipping bacon with the kind of precision that suggested military training. She didn't look up. "Saw the tears. Heard the drama. You've got five minutes of emotional leeway before I hit you with the spatula."
Alan sniffled as he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. "She's leaving me, Berta."
Berta flipped a strip of bacon and grunted. "That train left the station years ago, sweetheart. You've just been chasing it barefoot."
Charlie poured himself a coffee and leaned against the counter, watching Alan unravel like a badly knitted sweater.
"Do you want sympathy?" Charlie asked. "Or do you want advice? Because I'm low on one and out of the other."
Alan looked up, eyes watery. "I just want to understand why."
Berta finally turned around, hands on her hips. "Because you're a grown man who still calls his mom to ask what setting to use on a toaster. You laugh like a dying seagull. Your room smells. And you are annoying as hell. Do you need more? I can go on all day."
Alan looked even more down after Berta threw the reality on his face...
"Haaa... Well, look at the bright side, you are finally free and single. You can now hit nightclubs, strip joints, and hire prostitutes. And there's no one to complain," Charlie said before taking a sip of coffee.
"That's not funny," Alan stared at him with his red eyes. His face sagged like a cake left out in the sun. "To do all those things," he muttered, voice hollow, "I'd need money."
Charlie nodded sympathetically, sipping his coffee. "True."
Alan looked up. "Which I don't have."
Charlie nodded again. "Also true."
Alan's voice cracked. "Judith's going to squeeze every cent out of me, Charlie. Every cent. She's already got my bank accounts frozen, my car registered under her maiden name, and apparently, she's filing to garnish my future wages. She told me it was a joint account and Jake's college funds. She took my signatures. I should have read those papers, Charlie."
Berta, pouring herself a mug of coffee, didn't even look up. "Sounds like a woman with a vision."
Alan dropped his face into his hands. "I'm gonna be broke. Like, real broke. Like, eating ketchup packets in parking lots broke."
Charlie tilted his head. "You've been there before. You survived."
"I survived because you let me sleep on your couch!"
"And I regret that decision deeply," Charlie said. "I wake up to the smell of your sock feet and desperation."
Alan sniffled. "I checked my Venmo this morning. I had fourteen cents."
Charlie blinked. "That's not even enough for guilt snacks."
"And my Apple Pay?" Alan held up his phone. "Judith removed my card. It says I have to verify ownership through her email. I can't even buy gum without her permission."
"Wow," Charlie said, impressed. "She's got Thanos-level financial control."
Berta walked by, slapped a plate of bacon in front of Alan, and muttered, "Chew that slowly. It might be your last solid food."
Alan picked up a strip of bacon like it was his final meal. "I'm going to die alone. In debt. And probably in line at a food truck that doesn't take cash."
Charlie sat down across from him and took a bite of toast. "Hey, you'll be fine. You just need a plan."
Alan perked up slightly. "Really?"
"Sure," Charlie said, gesturing with his toast. "All you have to do is… I don't know… start a business. Write a book. Win the lottery. Fake your death and start over in South America."
Alan blinked. "How is that helpful?"
Charlie leaned forward. "Or... hear me out... FreakyFans."
Alan recoiled like Charlie had thrown holy water on him. "I am not selling pictures of my feet to strangers!"
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "With those duck pajamas? You could niche market to lonely cartoon fetishists and some serious degenerates."
"I'm not doing porn!"
"You wouldn't have to! Just... tasteful misery. Like 'single dad crying into soup' content. It's niche. It's raw. It's real."
Alan looked like he was seriously considering it for a horrifying moment. Then shook his head. "No. No way. There has to be something else."
Berta poured more coffee and muttered, "Dishwasher at Denny's. Janitor. Dog walker. Guy who holds a 'Repent' sign on the freeway."
Alan groaned. "Judith even wants my watch. My watch, Charlie! It's a Casio!"
Charlie frowned. "That's... just rude. Not even resale value there. That's revenge. Pure spite."
Alan sniffled. "She also said she's petitioning for sole custody of my favorite recliner."
Charlie almost dropped his mug. "Not the recliner! The sacred chair of back pain and popcorn crumbs?!"
Alan nodded solemnly. "She says it 'offends her aura.'"
Berta took a long, loud sip of coffee. "Honestly, I'd divorce you just for that chair."
Alan looked around the kitchen. "Okay. Okay. I have to think. Think, Alan, think."
He stood up suddenly, like a man having a vision. "Maybe I can sell something valuable. Something Judith doesn't know about."
Charlie narrowed his eyes. "Like what? Your collection of antique band-aid tins?"
Alan paced now. "I have a signed photo of Tony Danza."
Berta raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you forge that?"
Alan deflated again. "Yeah. With a crayon."
Charlie leaned back in his chair. "Well, you know what this means, right?"
Alan looked hopeful. "What?"
Charlie pointed to the broom closet. "Time to become Berta's assistant."
Alan blinked. "What? No."
Berta grinned slowly. "Oh yes."
Alan backed away. "I'm not cleaning toilets!"
Berta cracked her knuckles. "That wasn't a request."
Charlie smirked. "Welcome to the bottom of the barrel, buddy. It smells like bleach and broken dreams."
Alan looked around in horror.
Then sighed.
"Do I at least get a name tag?"
Berta handed him a pink sticky note and a Sharpie. "Write it yourself. And make it legible. I don't squint for peasants."
Charlie raised his coffee in salute. "To rock bottom."
Lisa, dressed in her suit, walked in. "Stop hitting the man when he's down." She walked over to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, and sat in the chair. Berta served her breakfast. She looked at Alan. "It is what it is. What you need right now is a good lawyer to minimize the damage as much as possible."
"Judith got my lawyer, too. Promised her a cut," Alan sighed.
Lisa and Berta both looked at Charlie.
"What?" He was somewhat confused.
"You used to date a lawyer, right?" Berta said, without any restraint or thought, that Lisa was there.
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