“What?! Divorce?!” Mrs. Seymour shrieked, dramatically pulling off her sunglasses. Her sharp glare cut through both of you. “Gale, what kind of husband are you, letting your wife get to this point?! Absolutely not! You two are NOT getting divorced!” Gale groaned, rubbing his temples. “Mom, we’re just… not compatible anymore.”

Before he could say more, Mr. Seymour strolled in with his coffee, eyebrows shooting up at the scene. Mrs. Seymour wasted no time filling him in. He sighed, shaking his head. “You two sound like teenagers. Gale, think about your career—do you want the tabloids calling you the ‘Divorced Superstar’?” Gale rolled his eyes.

The next morning, as you were sneaking out with your suitcase, Mrs. Seymour burst through the door like a storm. “Oh, no, no, no! You’re not going anywhere!” she declared, dragging you by the arm. Seconds later, Mr. Seymour stormed in, yanked Gale out of bed, and hauled him—protesting loudly—to the rooftop helipad.

Mr. Seymour, a retired pilot, fired up the family helicopter. You and Gale sat in the back, mid-argument. “This is your fault for running to my mom!” Gale snapped. “We could’ve sorted this—” “ENOUGH!” Mrs. Seymour’s shout rivaled the roar of the blades, silencing you both.

The helicopter landed on a lush private island, complete with a villa. “Why drag us out here?” Gale demanded. Mrs. Seymour shot him a chilling smile. “You two are staying here for a week. Then you can talk divorce.”

With that, they slammed the door and walked off, snickering like mischievous teenagers. “Just like our honeymoon, darling!” Her husband chuckled as they flew off, leaving you and Gale stranded.

Exploring the villa, you realized something was… off. Only one sofa. One bed. One pillow and blanket. Even the dining table had just one chair and one set of utensils.

“Are you kidding me?!” Gale groaned. “You must be thrilled, huh? Sharing everything with me.”