At dinner, my husband suddenly asked me, "What would you do if I met someone better than you?" I was quiet for a moment. "Then you should be with her," I said. "We'll get a divorce." He didn't know that I had already seen him. Seen him frantically trying to soothe that girl's red-rimmed eyes, telling her, "Don't cry. I'll give you a future." 1 He put down his fork. His face went pale, then twisted into a difficult smile. "Grace, I was just kidding." He wasn't. I knew he wasn't. I had known his love. Which is how I knew, with certainty, that his heart had moved. Earlier today, at the hospital. The oncologist, who had been brisk and impatient, looked at my chart. His demeanor softened instantly. He lowered his voice. "Don't be afraid. It's not late-stage. If you follow the treatment plan, this is manageable. This is beatable." I was walking out with the diagnostic report in my hand when I saw them. Noah’s arm was bandaged. The girl was looking at it, her eyes filling with tears. "Why did I meet you so late?" she whispered. "I don't even have the right to take care of you." Noah looked flustered. He tried to comfort her, and the fresh bandage on his arm bloomed red. "Don't cry," he said. "I'll give you a future." The words hung in the air. He froze, as if shocked at what he'd just said. Or maybe just annoyed at his own slip of the tongue. But the girl believed him. Her nose was red. She looked up at him. "Really?" Noah just frowned and said nothing. I didn't stay to watch the rest. I knew Noah's boundaries. As long as he was married to me, his body wouldn't cross the line. But his heart... His heart I couldn't control. 2 I wanted to know what kind of girl she was. The kind of girl who was, in his eyes, "better" than me. I found her profile in his phone. I had to see her for myself. What kind of girl could so easily shatter eight years of my life? We survived long-distance. We survived the pandemic. We survived being broke. But we couldn't survive a "better girl." I found her on her college campus. She was, as expected, bright and full of life. I watched as an elderly woman, a campus custodian, struggled with a recycling bin. The plastic bag tore, and dozens of empty cans clattered across the pavement. The girl, in a cream-colored coat, ran over and helped the woman pick up every single one. She then helped her carry the new bag all the way to the campus recycling center. I followed them, like a stalker. Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. A figure blurred past, blocking my view. I looked up. It was Noah. He was standing between me and the girl, his arms spread slightly, his lips trembling. "Grace, it's not her fault..." Not her fault. Then whose fault was it? Mine? The girl finally noticed me. She turned, her eyes wide. When our gazes met, she looked away, terrified. 3 In the coffee shop. Noah sat across from me, his eyes filled with a familiar pain. "Grace," he started. "I..." He couldn't finish. I was morbidly curious. Now that his wife had found out, what would he do? Would he break it off with the "better" girl? Or would he end it with me? He opened his mouth, and the words came out, rough and strained. "Grace... I... I don't think I love you anymore." I said nothing. My body, however, betrayed me. My eyes burned. "Don't cry..." he pleaded, helpless. He just stared at me for a long time before pushing the napkin dispenser across the table. He let out a long, heavy sigh. "Grace, we've been together since we were eighteen. That's eight years... "I know I'm an asshole. I'm scum. "But Grace... after so long... my love for you, it's turned into... family. Into affection. It's just... it's not love. Not anymore. We can't fight that." I found my voice. "And her?" Noah was silent. "Maybe it will fade with her, too," he said. "But right now... I can't lie to you." He looked up, his voice bitter. "I haven't done anything. I haven't cheated. If you want... we can stay together. We can make it work." "But... all I can give you is my responsibility. And my time. The love is gone." How do you describe that feeling? Sadness? Despair? It was like being a prisoner, watching the water rise in your cell. You know you're going to drown. You just have to watch it happen. We sat in silence. Finally, I spoke. "Let's schedule a time. For the divorce." 4 It was evening when I left the cafe. The sunset was a violent, bloody orange. Across the street, someone was hiding behind a bus stop. Noah saw her immediately. He ran across the street, dodging traffic. The girl jumped, her face pale with fright. "Summer," he said, his voice sharp. "What are you doing here? I told you to go back to your dorm. You've been here this whole time?" The girl, Summer, glanced at me, her eyes full of apology. She looked down at her shoes. "I... I was worried about you..." His expression softened instantly. "Don't overthink it." A sudden, indescribable bitterness flooded my chest. I really thought I had nothing left to feel. 5 "Don't overthink it." He’d said that to me, our graduation day. I was sobbing, terrified of the separation. Everyone said graduation was a death sentence for relationships. He held me at the train station. "Grace, don't overthink it. As soon as I'm settled, I'm coming to see you." At that same station. He went north, I went south. I was in a new city. On my first birthday alone, he promised he'd be there. He wasn't. At 12:37 AM, someone pounded on my apartment door. He burst in, breathless, and grabbed me. "I'm sorry," he panted. "I'm so late. I ran as fast as I could." I found out later he'd spent his last dollar on the train ticket. He couldn't afford a cab from the station. He'd walked. It was eight miles. I thought that was my life. Full of small heartbreaks, but always ending in a late, breathless arrival. I was wrong.
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