My wife said she didn’t understand the “silent treatment,” yet in three years of marriage, she never once tried to make up with me. The first time she did it, I was proud. We ignored each other for seven days straight. The seventh time, I started to panic. I tried everything I could think of, but she wouldn't break. By the eleventh time, I had learned to swallow my own emotions. I would apologize before Sophia even had to say a word. I thought she was just born cold, that no one could ever warm her heart. Until the third year of our marriage, when I accidentally scorched one of her dresses while ironing. Sophia didn’t say anything, but that night, she packed a bag and checked into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked and ignored, I went to her office with a handwritten apology. As I passed by her glass-walled room, I saw her leaning over, a fond smile on her face as she spoke to her pouting male assistant. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. It’s been 57 minutes and you haven’t said a word to me. Can we please not do this silent treatment thing?” I froze. The apology letter in my hand felt like it was on fire. So, she did understand the silent treatment. The person she wanted to coax just wasn’t me. 1 The apology letter had become our unspoken ritual over the past three years. Every time she shut me out, it was my handwritten note that served as the bridge back to her. The first time I wrote one, my eyes were red with humiliation. One part of me screamed at how pathetic I was, debasing myself for a woman like this. The other part just couldn’t stop writing. Because the silence was just too damn hard to bear. Then came the third time, the ninth, the seventeenth… an endless, soul-crushing cycle. Even on the way to her office today, I was obsessing over it: Was my handwriting neat enough? Did my words sound sincere? Surely, after she read it, she wouldn’t be angry anymore. But now, watching the genuine warmth in her eyes as she looked at her assistant, a chill shot up from my feet and seized my entire body. So, she did understand the silent treatment. The person she wanted to coax just wasn’t me. While Sophia was in a meeting, I asked her assistant to meet me. As I ordered our coffee, I studied the young man across from me. He wasn’t as handsome as me, his features were merely pleasant. He was thin, lacking any real masculine presence. As for family background, Sophia and I came from similar standing; he was just an intern. By every measure, he couldn’t compare to me. But I had still lost to him. In three years of marriage, Sophia had given me the silent treatment countless times, and not once had she tried to break it. I had convinced myself she was just a cold person, that it was her nature. Today, I learned that was a lie. Sophia could smile with affection. She knew how painful the silence could be. She knew you had to swallow your pride to make a man happy. But I didn't understand. Where did I lose? That’s why I asked him to meet me. I needed the answer. Alex hadn’t expected my question. The nervous “caught by the wife” expression on his face froze. Disbelief flashed in his eyes. “That’s… all you want to know?” The letter in my hand felt scorching hot. I crumpled it into a ball and shoved it into my bag. Then, with a sincerity that was almost painful, I asked again. “Yes. That’s all I want to know. Can you tell me? Where did I lose?” 2 Alex smirked. Then, realizing I was serious, the smirk slowly morphed into a look of pity, of compassion for a lesser being. He took a sip of his coffee, revealing a classic Rolex on his wrist. “Last month, Sophia took me to a gala. I complained that the smell of champagne clinging to her dress was too strong.” “The next day, this watch was on my desk.” I stared at him, stunned. Sophia had been drinking heavily that night. When she came home, her face was flushed. I’m allergic to alcohol; even the strong scent gives me a rash. So I had offered to sleep in the guest room. She had flown into a rage and didn’t speak to me for a week. “And this tie,” Alex gestured to the dark, patterned tie he was wearing, the gold thread in its design shimmering in the light. “Sophia was three minutes late letting me off work because of a client meeting. She bought this for me on her business trip to Paris as an apology.” I nodded, feeling a sense of detachment, of unreality. The week before her Paris trip had been my birthday. A week in advance, I had reminded her to get me a gift. Three days in advance, I had reminded her to set an alarm so she wouldn’t forget to wish me a happy birthday. She still forgot. And when I confronted her, her first reaction was anger. “You know how busy I am,” she had snapped, before coldly grabbing her suitcase and leaving for the airport. I was so hurt I didn’t speak to her for two weeks. During those days, when neither of us would back down, she had still remembered to buy a tie for Alex? I wanted to laugh, but my eyes were burning. “Is there more?” I asked, my voice hollow. Alex gave me a surprised look, as if he couldn’t understand why I was actively seeking out more pain. “The reason for your current fight,” he said, leaning in. “You probably don’t know. The dress you ruined… I was the one who gave it to her.” “She promised me she would wear it to her client meeting this week.” It all clicked into place. No wonder. It was just a dress. How could that be enough to make her move out? I thought about last night, how I had swallowed my pride and carefully written each word on the page. Sophia, I know I was wrong. I’ll be more careful with the housework. I won’t be so clumsy again. Sophia, I’ll buy you another one, exactly the same. Please don’t be angry with me. Thinking about it now, it was just… pathetic. I couldn’t sit there any longer. I nodded at Alex and turned to leave. I knew where I’d lost. And I knew exactly how my marriage to Sophia had to end. It would begin with this silence. 3 Leaving the café, I went straight to a law firm. I paid extra to have a divorce agreement drafted immediately. While I was waiting, I ran into Sophia. It seemed her company’s legal team was having some issues, and she was here to negotiate a new partnership. The moment she saw me, her brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?” She seemed to assume I was there to apologize. Her eyes instinctively darted to my bag. “I don’t have time to read your letter right now. Wait until I’m finished…” “Mr. Hayes, we’re ready for you.” A lawyer, Mr. Evans, poked his head out of his office and waved me in. I stood up. Sophia grabbed my arm. “You’re here to see a lawyer?” Before I could answer, she let go, her expression turning dismissive. “You even made a lawyer's appointment just for a chance to run into me.” She sighed, as if granting a great favor. “Fine. Since you went to all this trouble, we’ll have dinner tonight.” I knew this was her signal for reconciliation. The old me would have lit up, nodding eagerly. But this time, I wanted to be the one who didn’t understand. I smiled politely. “I have plans tonight. Maybe some other time.” The next time we have dinner, it will be to discuss our divorce. Without another word, I walked past her and into Mr. Evans’s office, leaving Sophia standing there, utterly bewildered. It felt good. 4 It was dark by the time I finished with the lawyer. Sophia hadn’t waited for me. The receptionist said she left the moment her meeting was over, as if she were trying to escape someone. That someone, of course, was me. I knew my place. This wasn’t the first time she’d publicly snubbed me. But it was the first time I didn’t feel sad. I went to the mall and bought myself the watch I’d always wanted. Then I went to an arcade and played games for hours. Finally, I went for hot pot, something I’d been craving for ages. Sophia was a neat freak and couldn’t stand the smell of chili and spices that clung to your clothes afterward. So, I was never allowed to eat it. The last time I’d had it was a year ago. We were in the middle of a three-day silent treatment over something trivial. I was used to it, but that day was our wedding anniversary. Out of spite, I went to a hot pot restaurant, ordered the spiciest broth, and came home smelling like a chili bomb. We had a massive fight. She had asked me, her face like ice, why I would deliberately do something that I knew would upset her. I had asked her, my eyes red, why she would give me the silent treatment on our wedding anniversary. Why couldn’t you just… try to make up with me? I don’t remember her expression that day. But I remember the bone-deep chill of her indifference. It’s a cold that still makes me shiver. But that was all in the past. I scooped up a large piece of beef, my heart content. It was late when I got home. I showered and was about to go to bed when a message from Sophia came through. “Have you seen my green hair clip? I need it for tomorrow.” In three years, this was the first time she had ever messaged me first during one of our silences. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, wondering if it was a prank. After checking her name several times, I slowly typed back. “It’s in the glass cabinet in the walk-in closet, third shelf. Do you want me to call a courier?” Before, no matter where she was, I would have dropped everything to bring her what she needed. But now, it was almost midnight. I needed my sleep. Silence from her end. Just as I was putting my phone down, another message arrived. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. What do you want? That model kit?” I froze. That was the gift I had asked for last year. A year too late. When I didn’t reply, another message came. “You came to the office today? There’s nothing between Alex and me. Don’t cause trouble for him.” Her words hit me like a splash of cold water. Of course. She was defending her little lover. No wonder she suddenly remembered to get me a gift. She was afraid I would hurt her precious boy. I laughed out loud, then hit the voice message button, my tone a mix of self-mockery and release. “Don’t worry. I won’t do a thing.” Because I’m already preparing to leave you. I glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. A bit late to ask her to come over. After a moment’s thought, I sent one last message. “Sophia, don’t stay at the hotel anymore. Come home tomorrow night.” “I have an agreement I need you to sign.” 5 The next day, I woke up early and started packing. I considered making dinner, but then thought better of it. Sophia never liked my cooking. If she came home to a table full of food, she’d probably just get annoyed again. I smiled to myself and ordered a lavish spread from a restaurant instead. By 6 PM, Sophia hadn’t replied. I took the food from the delivery guy, gave him a generous tip, and asked him to take the trash bags by the door. The bags weren't heavy. They were filled with all the apology letters I had written over the years. Sophia had kept them in her desk. I’d found them and thrown them all out. By 7 PM, Sophia hadn’t arrived. I wasn’t worried. I started eating and happened to scroll past Alex’s social media feed. [Tripped on the way out and my ankle is killing me. Luckily, Sophia was there to drive me home.] When was the last time I sprained my ankle? The 17th? My ankle had swollen up like a balloon. The pain was so bad I took painkillers and passed out. I’d missed her calls. Without a word, she had blocked my number and only unblocked it a few days ago. I still remember what she’d said: “Leo, it’s just a sprained ankle. Are you going to die?” No, a sprained ankle won’t kill you. But her coldness killed my heart. I yawned, gave Alex's post a "like," and went back to my food. My phone immediately buzzed. A single question mark from Sophia. I didn’t reply. Ten minutes later, I heard a key in the lock. Sophia stormed in, looking furious. But she stopped short when she saw the half-eaten takeout containers on the table. “You didn’t cook?” I flinched, instinctively touching a small scar on my hand from a cooking burn. “You don’t like my cooking, remember?” She was speechless, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. But she never showed her true emotions to me. She handed me a gift box. “Anniversary present. Open it.” I took it and glanced inside. Yep. The year-old model kit. “Thank you.” My polite response seemed to throw her off completely. Her gaze hardened. “I didn’t mean to be late. There was an emergency at work. I came as soon as I could.” She continued, a defensive edge to her voice. “Driving him home was just… convenient. It was on my way. Don’t get the wrong idea…” I nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” I truly didn’t. But my indifference seemed to infuriate her. There was even a hint of a pout in her tone. “Then why didn’t you get me a gift?” The moment the words left her mouth, she looked surprised at herself. It was completely out of character. But her pride, especially with me, was ironclad. Her expression quickly darkened. She shot me a cold glare and turned to leave. I knew what this was. The start of another silent war. “Wait.” I called out to her, walking to a drawer and rummaging through it. She turned back, a slight smirk on her lips as she walked up behind me. “What are you looking for? My present…?” “Found it!” I spun around, my voice buzzing with an excitement I couldn't contain. “I had a lawyer draft a divorce agreement. Sign it.”
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