In the eighth year of our marriage, Cole posted a high-profile photo on Instagram with his female assistant. In the picture, their heads were touching, their smiles intimate. The caption read: [Finalizing our most important merger yet.] I liked the post. Moments later, it was deleted. Cole FaceTimed me immediately. With his friends and that assistant visible in the background, he shouted at me. "It was just a joke, Nina! Why do you have to be so sensitive? God!" Five minutes later, a new photo appeared in his assistant’s bio. It was a close-up of her face pressed against Cole’s cheek. In the past, I would have lost control. I would have rushed over there and made a huge, embarrassing scene. But this time, I truly didn't care. ... When Cole got home, I was clearing the food and cake off the table. Yesterday was his birthday. He had told me he wanted to bring a few friends home for a party. I took half the day off work and spent the entire afternoon cooking. But I waited all night, and Cole never showed up. If I hadn't seen Chloe’s Instagram Story, I wouldn't have known he changed his plans last minute. He rented out a VIP section at a trendy bar downtown. "Did you bake this cake yourself?" Cole swiped some frosting and smeared it on my face. When I nodded, he forced a fake smile. "No wonder it looks so... homemade." Before, a comment like that would have made me desperately try to defend myself. But right now, I was too lazy to argue over a single word. Watching me clean up in silence, Cole’s brow furrowed slightly. "Nina, I brought you some leftover lobster bisque. You love that place." "I saw it." Cole was always like this. He would humiliate me, then bring home food. It was his unspoken signal for a truce. "I'll heat it up for you." Before I could refuse, he walked into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, the smell of burning food filled the air. Cole was on a call in the bedroom and didn't come out, so I turned off the stove myself. As I was ladling the soup, his phone on the counter lit up. It was a text from Chloe. [Cole, thank you. I was so happy last night~] Before I could look away, a cold voice came from behind me. "Who said you could touch my phone?" "I didn't... Ouch!" Cole squeezed past me in anger, bumping my arm. The boiling soup spilled over my left hand. Instant blisters formed on my skin. He glanced at me like I was an idiot, annoyed, and offered to drive me to Urgent Care. The pain was intense, so I didn't argue. I got in the car with him. As soon as I sat in his Tesla, I saw a custom sticker on the passenger sun visor. [WARNING: Reserved Seat for the CEO’s Chief Navigator] Cole’s expression shifted slightly. "Chloe was just messing around. You know she likes doing silly things like that." I replied calmly, "Oh. Creative." The car fell into a brief silence. Cole looked at me with a strange expression. "Aren't you going to tear it off?" I blinked. Why would I tear it off? The old me would have shredded that sticker to pieces immediately. But now, I didn't even care about Cole himself. Why would I care about these childish territorial games? "Just drive. I have to get to work later." Hearing my indifference, he drove faster. Just one block away from the clinic, Cole’s phone rang. It was the special ringtone he assigned to Chloe. Chloe was crying on the other end. She said she was hungover, had a splitting headache, and her claustrophobia was kicking in. She felt like the walls of her apartment were closing in on her. Cole hung up. Without looking at me, he made a U-turn and drove straight toward Chloe’s luxury apartment complex. He parked the car and grabbed the Advil and electrolytes I had prepared for him from the glove box. He spoke to me casually. "Chloe sounds bad. I'm going to run up and check on her. I'll be right back." Then, Cole locked the car and went upstairs alone. An hour passed in silence. I sat in the sweltering heat of the California sun. I waited until I was nearly dehydrated and fainting. Cole never came back. I used the emergency safety hammer to break the window. With pale lips, I climbed out of the car. With the help of a kind doorman, I called an Uber and went to the hospital myself. That evening, when Cole returned home, I was eating Thai food I’d ordered on Uber Eats. "Nina, why didn't you order some for me?"
He knew my hand was injured. He knew I couldn't cook. But why didn't I order for him? He had texted me thirty minutes ago saying he was coming home. In our eight years of marriage, I had always replied to his texts instantly. He didn't expect me to shrug indifferently and give a lazy excuse. "Phone was on silent. Didn't see it." Cole tightened his grip on the shopping bag in his hand. He pursed his lips and held the bag up to my face. "I remembered your Le Labo perfume was running out." I looked up from my Pad Thai. I met his gaze, which looked like he was bestowing a great charity upon a beggar. I spoke politely but distantly. "You can give it to someone else. I switched brands." Thirty minutes ago, Chloe had posted a photo shopping at a luxury store. In the corner of the photo, you could clearly see Cole’s right wrist wearing his Vacheron Constantin watch. Seeing the bandages on my hand and my calm focus on the reality show on TV, Cole frowned. He leaned in, trying to check my injury. I instinctively dodged his touch. I accidentally knocked over the shopping bag. The perfume bottle shattered on the floor. Cole let out a cold laugh. "Nina, just because I made you wait in the car a little longer? Do you really have to drag this mood out until now? Can you grow up?" "I'm not in a mood." I was telling the truth. But all I got in return was his ruthless mockery. "You obviously are. Nina, can you stop dramatizing everything in your head? You're hopeless." I was three years older than Cole. Every time we fought, he would attack me for being "emotional" or "overthinking." Then he would sit back and enjoy watching me break down. But this time, I didn't cry. I didn't hysterically ask if he regretted marrying me. I just said, "Think whatever you want." I cleaned up the trash, grabbed my purse, and opened the door. In the past, whenever I threatened to leave, he never once chased after me. But today, Cole actually followed me to the elevator. "It's late. Where are you going?" I lied effortlessly. "My mom needs me to pick up something." Cole looked like he wanted to say more, but the elevator doors closed. Less than two hours later, I was chatting with friends at a bar. My phone buzzed with a text from Cole. It was just a question mark. [?] I ignored it completely. My best friend, Olivia, looked shocked. "Nina, did the sun rise in the west? Cole actually reached out to you? If you don't reply, isn't he going to blow up?" My friends knew I was terrified of upsetting Cole. But that night, I not only ignored him, I stayed out partying with them until 2:00 AM. When I got home, Cole was standing by the fridge drinking water. He didn't ask where I had been. I didn't acknowledge him either. I went straight to the bathroom to shower. As soon as I lay down in bed, Cole pressed up against me. He kissed me for a few seconds. I pushed him away hard. He finally lost his patience and flicked on the bedside lamp. "Nina, don't tell me you forgot what days these are." Cole and I were trying for a baby. So, during my fertile window every month, he would perform his "duty." I turned my back to him. "I'm too tired today. Goodnight." Hearing the same excuse I had heard him use countless times, Cole froze. Eventually, he stormed out of the bedroom with a dark expression. I knew he would sleep in the guest room for the next few days. Before, whenever he slept in a separate room, I would panic and suffer from insomnia all night. But that night, I slept incredibly well. The next day at work, my productivity was through the roof. When my boss jokingly asked what reward I wanted, I looked at her seriously. "That divorce lawyer you mentioned last time? Can I get her contact info?" On the ninth day of sleeping separately, Cole woke up unusually early. He made bacon and eggs—my favorite—then went back to the bedroom to sleep without saying a word. At 3:00 PM, I saw a photo in a group chat sent by Cole’s friend, Ryan. It was from Ryan's wedding party. The photo showed Cole with Chloe holding his arm. She was smiling shyly, leaning into him.
Less than five minutes after the group photo was posted, Cole called me. He sounded hesitant. "Nina, don't misunderstand. Ryan’s wedding was on a weekday, and I needed a plus-one..." I was genuinely confused. "What is there to misunderstand?" "You're not mad?" "Why would I be mad?" He fell silent for a moment. "Wait for me at your office after work. I'm taking you to the reception dinner." He hung up before I could refuse. When Cole picked me up, Chloe was sitting in the passenger seat. "Hi, Nina! What a coincidence, you're coming too?" Facing Chloe’s fake smile, I gave a calm smile back. I opened the back door and got in without complaint. The whole ride, Cole kept trying to catch my eye in the rearview mirror. I kept my head down, scrolling on my phone. I answered him with one-word replies until I eventually stopped talking altogether. When we arrived at the private dining room, Ryan rushed over with exaggerated regret. He said it was the biggest tragedy of his life that I missed the ceremony. I knew he was covering for Cole. But I wasn't angry at anyone. "Don't say that. I should be the one wishing you a happy marriage." Seeing that I held no grudge and just sat down to eat, Ryan’s jaw dropped. Over the last year, he had covered for Cole many times while Cole was vacationing with Chloe. Once, I even exposed his lie to his face. Back then, he wasn't nearly as shocked as he was now. Halfway through dinner, the restaurant manager brought in several bottles of expensive wine. He asked Cole, "Mr. Jenkins, these are the bottles you and Miss Chloe saved last time. Should we open them now?" The atmosphere in the room froze. I decided to help him out. "Open them all. Don't let them go to waste." I stood up and walked out of the room. Cole chased after me immediately. He looked rarely nervous. "Nina, the company closed a big deal a while ago. The wine was bought to celebrate that." I waved my hand dismissively and walked into the restroom. When I returned to the room, Cole was drinking Chloe’s wine for her to stop her from getting drunk. Two years ago, at a dinner just like this. I was allergic to alcohol, but his friends kept pressuring me to drink. Back then, Cole didn't help me. He held my shoulder and said coldly, "It's just one glass. Drink it. If it gets bad, I'll take you to get your stomach pumped later." That night, I started running a fever. Two days later, I was rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain. The doctor told me I had been one month pregnant, but I had lost the baby. When Cole heard about the miscarriage, he rushed to the hospital. He screamed at me. "I told you not to go, but you insisted! You idiot, this is the price you pay for trying to squeeze into a man’s world!" Remembering this, I walked back to my seat, grabbed my purse, and left. Cole followed me all the way home, furious. "Nina, are you sick? You just leave without saying a word? You embarrassed everyone. Are you happy now?" I remained silent. He loosened his tie and sneered. "If you're going to be this immature, we might as well get a divorce." This was the second time he had mentioned divorce. The last time was because he thought I looked through his phone. Back then, I had knelt at his feet with zero dignity, crying and swearing I would never upset him again. But this time, I looked him in the eye. I spoke clearly. "Okay."
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