Dad moved out two weeks later, to a one-bedroom apartment near his office.

Before he left, he asked Mom if he could still see us.

“Of course,” Mom said. “They're your children. Every other weekend, and Wednesday dinners. That's for them, not for you.”

Mom didn't go back to Singapore. She'd handed the bridge over to her deputy, and her company let her lead the last stage of the project from their New York office. Two days a week in the city, three days working from home.

“You gave that up for us?” I asked her.

“I didn't give anything up,” she said. “The bridge will still get finished. I just won't be standing on it.”

A week later, Brittany posted on Instagram. A long sad caption about her “toxic ex-wife situation” and how she'd been “thrown out on the street by a jealous woman.”

Then the comments started.

I was at that party. Nobody threw you out. It was never your house.

Weren't you the one making the kids wear aprons??

You filmed a 12 year old cleaning up dog poop for likes. Delete this.

The post was gone by the next morning.