The Sixteenth Call

The mobile phone screen displayed the words "Police Station." I raised my hand to interrupt the discussion in the meeting room and walked to the end of the corridor to answer the call. "Is this Cameron Tillman? Your wife, Ruby Zimmerman, was involved in a conflict at a nightclub. Please come over to handle the bail procedures." "Understood." I hung up the phone, my fingertips lightly tapping against the cold wall. This is the sixteenth time. Since three years ago, when Ruby Zimmerman was first taken to the police station for DUI, my life has been shattered and fragmented by these sudden disruptions. I told my assistant to continue following up on client requests, then drove home to retrieve my wallet and ID. At the very bottom of the study drawer, the drafted Divorce Agreement lay quietly. I folded it twice and slipped it into the inside pocket of my suit jacket; the metal clasp pressed uncomfortably against my chest. A streetlamp at the police station entrance was broken, its dim light casting mottled shadows on the ground. Ruby Zimmerman stood at the bottom of the steps in a sequined slip dress; much of her makeup was smeared, and several scratch marks were visible on her bare arms. The man standing beside her was someone I recognized—her ex-boyfriend Kenneth Zamora, his hair dyed silver-gray, lowering his head to fix the collar of her dress that had been pulled askew. "Cameron, you finally came." Ruby's eyes brightened when she saw me, and she tried to rush forward. I stepped aside to avoid her; she missed, and the smile on her face briefly stiffened. Kenneth Zamora draped his arm over Ruby Zimmerman's shoulder, looking at me provocatively: "Mr. Tillman, trouble again. This time I didn't keep an eye on Ruby; I'll cover the medical expenses." His fingers rested on Ruby's collarbone, the very place I once loved to kiss. I ignored him and took the divorce certificate from my pocket, placing it before Ruby: "Sign it." Ruby's face instantly paled; her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the edge of the paper. "Cameron, what do you mean? Is it really because of such a small matter?" "A small matter?" I smiled faintly, my voice slightly hoarse. "Three years, sixteen bails at the police station, each time involving him—do you really see that as a small matter?" Kenneth Zamora stepped forward, shielding Ruby Zimmerman behind him. "Cameron, don't push this too far. Since Ruby married you, hasn't she endured enough suffering? Are you blind to that?" Suffering? I remembered our wedding anniversary: I had reserved a restaurant and waited for her until late, only to find her in a bar booth, dead drunk and surrounded by a group of strangers. I remember when she was three months pregnant—after a car accident caused by racing with Kenneth Zamora—lying in the hospital bed, crying and saying it wasn't Kenneth's fault. These images churned through my mind. I raised my hand, grabbed Kenneth Zamora's collar, and slapped him hard across the face. The sharp crack of the slap echoed, and the surroundings fell instantly silent. Kenneth covered his face, glaring at me fiercely: "You dare hit me?" "So what if I did?" I stared into his eyes, my voice cold as ice. Ruby Zimmerman screamed as she lunged forward and grabbed me, "Cameron! You're crazy!" I shook off her hand and shoved the pen into her palm. "Sign. From today onward, we're done." Ruby bit her lip tightly, tears falling onto the agreement and smudging a small patch of ink. "I won't sign." She threw the paper to the ground and turned, leaning toward Kenneth Zamora. "Cameron, don't force me." I bent down to pick up the soiled paper, carefully brushing off the dust. "I didn't force you." I put the agreement back into my pocket. "But this marriage—I'm determined to get a divorce."