Because of a jar of chocolate, I asked Vivienne Shaw for a divorce. It was in the seventh year of our marriage. She looked at me, annoyed. “I’m really tired, can you stop making a fuss?” I calmly looked at her, then picked up what I had prepared long ago: “This is the divorce agreement.” While doing laundry, I found half-eaten chocolate in Vivienne’s coat pocket. I froze. How could she have something like this? Vivienne had always been strict about her appearance, working in the fashion industry. To keep her skin clear and her figure slim, she avoided sugar religiously. She wouldn’t even eat many carbs, let alone something as sugary and indulgent as a jar of M&M’s Minis. I remembered finding a small packet of cookies in the car a few days ago. She said a coworker gave it to her. But all her coworkers knew she avoided sugar. Why would anyone give her cookies? After hesitating for a long time, I finally went down to the garage to check the car’s dashcam. The sound of the car door closing played, followed by a cheerful, familiar male voice: “You’re the best, Vivienne. Thanks for waiting for me.” The voice was warm, bright—pleasant to the ears. But all I felt was a chilling sensation spreading through my body, and my heart ached as if struck by a hammer. Vivienne let out a light laugh. “Everyone else is working late, aren’t you worried they’ll talk since you left early?” Jaxon, pretending to be cocky, replied, “I’m part of the new generation! Besides, everyone knows you were waiting for me. With you around, why should I care what they think?” Vivienne laughed heartily, amused by his youthful arrogance. I was suddenly reminded of when Vivienne and I used to work together, back when our marriage wasn’t public knowledge. Whenever we crossed paths in the office, she would walk right past me as if she didn’t know me at all. Whenever I brought it up, she would get impatient: “Don’t you know the company policy? If people find out about us, do you think I’ll still have a chance at a promotion?” At that time, my world revolved around Vivienne, but for Vivienne, her world was all about work. As she rose higher in her career and got busier, I ended up quitting my job to become a full-time homemaker, taking care of everything for her. But now, she didn’t seem worried about jeopardizing her promotion at all. There was a soft “pop” as Jaxon opened something. “Vivienne, have some chocolate.” Vivienne chuckled. “No thanks, kid. I don’t eat stuff like that. You go ahead.” “But I want to feed it to you!” Jaxon whined. I snapped back to reality, smiling bitterly at myself as I listened to the sound of Vivienne crunching on the M&M’s. After she finished the chocolate, she said, “Don’t eat too much. I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner.” I turned off the dashcam. I couldn’t listen any longer. My head throbbed, and I wanted to open the window to get some fresh air, but my body felt drained, like I couldn’t even lift a finger. I thought back to the past. I used to cook all kinds of meals for Vivienne to help her eat better. Within a year, I went from being a kitchen rookie to knowing how to make dishes from several cuisines. One Thanksgiving, I made a honey-glazed ham. Vivienne didn’t get home until nearly midnight. When she saw the dish, she threw down her fork. “This is so greasy, so sweet! How am I supposed to eat this?” Then she got up and went to the bedroom, leaving me sitting alone at the dinner table, stunned. I had just wanted to make something festive for the holiday, but it ended in an argument. I knew she was stressed from work. At the time, I regretted being so careless, making her go hungry on a holiday. But I had forgotten that the table was full of dishes, not just the ham. But now, she had eaten half a jar of chocolate. Turns out, it wasn’t the sugar that was the problem. It was me. I found the divorce papers I had tucked away. I’d printed them a long time ago, but I hadn’t wanted to bring them out. I admit, I wasn’t ready to let go of our marriage. I’d liked Vivienne for so long. From the moment I first saw her, my heart raced, and she became the most beautiful color in my youth. But she had fallen for the campus heartthrob. He came from a wealthy family, and his mother didn’t approve of Vivienne. Instead, they arranged for him to marry a well-off debutante. Vivienne was heartbroken, so she settled for me, the guy who had always been by her side. I knew all of this, and I didn’t care. I kept waiting. Waiting for her to see me. Waiting for her to fall in love with me. But I failed. From the moment I saw Jaxon, I felt uneasy. He reminded me too much of the type Vivienne liked. They both had that sunny, clean-cut look, playful and lively, always the center of attention—unlike me, who was content to stand quietly in her shadow. The first time I felt something was off was when Jaxon called late one night. He was just an intern, and while they talked about work, there was nothing urgent. Why would an intern call the department director late at night instead of speaking to colleagues or other supervisors? It didn’t make sense. Vivienne was lying on the couch at the time. She had neck problems and sometimes headaches. I was giving her a massage to help her relax when she suddenly sat up, rushing to answer the phone. I could feel her excitement, and even a hint of nervousness. “Just go for it, don’t overthink it. We’re in a creative industry; you don’t need to hold back.” She listened patiently as he rambled about work. The entire time, the corners of Vivienne’s mouth lifted into a soft smile. After she hung up, she seemed in a great mood, even humming a tune while putting on a face mask. I sat there in the living room, feeling like my heart was being ripped apart. I didn’t think Vivienne intended to hurt our family at first. She tried to restrain herself. Every time Jaxon called, she kept it professional. But emotions are probably the hardest thing to control. Even if you cover your mouth, they find a way out through your eyes. Soon, her phone was always in her hand, and she started laughing to herself for no reason. She worked late more and more often. When I finally brought it up, she looked at me with disdain and said coldly, “Elliott, you’re a grown man who does nothing all day and obsesses over the smallest things. It’s pathetic.” Her words deflated me like a punctured balloon. I no longer had the courage to confront her. It wasn’t her fault, though. I had always known—I wasn’t the one being loved. But my heart hurt so much that I became numb, and in that numbness, I realized something: I deserve to be loved, too. Divorcing over a jar of chocolate might sound ridiculous. But I was tired. I didn’t want to be the loyal dog anymore. Even if no one else loved me, I could still love myself.
I took a deep breath and handed the divorce papers to Vivienne. She was at her desk, typing away on her computer, and she irritably swatted them out of my hand. “Elliott, can’t you see I’m working?” “How many times have I told you not to bother me when I’m busy—” This time, I didn’t stay silent. I cut her off: “These are the divorce papers. Look them over. If everything’s fine, just sign.” Vivienne was stunned for a moment, then she let out a mocking laugh. “Elliott, I see you’ve grown some backbone. What’s this? You think I haven’t given you enough, so now you want to push me into pampering you even more? You want to mooch off me?” I met her gaze calmly. “Did you forget? Back when we graduated, I had better options. It was you who said you needed me by your side, so I took a job at a company I didn’t even like. You excelled in your field, worked late every day, to the point where you had stomach ulcers. That’s why I quit to take care of you. How much does a live-in housekeeper in New York City cost per month? Would the money you spent on me even come close? Don’t paint yourself as a saint. It’s me, Elliott Reid, who’s been taking care of you—not the other way around.” Vivienne’s eyes widened in shock. She never expected me to say something like that. Then she swept the unsigned divorce papers to the floor in anger, yelling at me: “What the hell is wrong with you? Acting all high and mighty now? Do you think I’m too old and ugly for you, is that it? Is that why you want a divorce?” I simply replied, “The chocolate in your pocket—you ate half of it.” “What?” Vivienne’s face hardened, then suddenly, as if realizing something, her expression grew nervous. “You’re divorcing me over chocolate?” I looked at her, nodding seriously. “Yes.” I paused before adding, “Whether you agree or not doesn’t matter. If you refuse, I’ll file for divorce. I’m a stay-at-home husband, Vivienne—I’ve got all the time in the world.” Vivienne glared at me, then let out a bitter laugh. She picked up the crumpled divorce papers from the floor, signed them, and threw them back at me. “Get out!” she shouted, pointing at the door. I didn’t even look back. I turned and left. “Elliott, don’t come crawling back to me like a dog. Once you walk out that door, there’s no turning back,” Vivienne spat venomously at my back. My face flushed, my chest felt tight, and my heart throbbed with pain. I’d threatened divorce before in moments of despair, but I always backed down. I couldn’t bear to leave this home we’d built, couldn’t bear to leave the woman I had loved for so many years. She always knew where to hit me the hardest. She might forget my birthday, but she sure knew how to hurt me. I grabbed my jacket and said, “Let’s go. We’ve got time now; we can head to the courthouse.” Vivienne didn’t continue insulting me. She stood up and yelled, “Elliott, are you seriously doing this?”
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