Instantly, the murmurs around us grew louder, turning into a roar of judgment.
"The freeloader is cheating?"
"Director Fletcher must be right. Look at his face—guilty."
"He definitely found his next meal ticket. Why else would a man divorce his wife over a snowman?"
"Scumbag. Absolute trash. I'm exposing him."
Phones were raised. Flashes went off.
Tessa's company was in the heart of the commercial district, and the New Year's Eve foot traffic was immense. My stated reason for divorce sounded absurd to outsiders, and several self-appointed vigilantes began livestreaming.
"Look at this guy. Lives off his wife's money, acts tough, and demands a divorce because she built a snowman with a friend."
Viewer counts climbed rapidly. Tessa noticed the cameras, and her tears flowed harder.
"Oliver," she choked out, playing to the gallery. "Even if everyone's guesses are true... as long as you cut ties with that woman, I won't hold it against you. Come home."
She looked so righteous. So forgiving. So understanding.
Bile rose in my throat.