In three years of marriage, Ethan never once sat down and shared a meal with me. I couldn’t go a single meal without fish, but he’d curse at the mere whiff of it—said it reeked. So every time he sat at the dining table, I’d carry my plate to the living room and eat alone. When I was done, I’d rinse my mouth three times before daring to kiss him, and even then he’d grimace and pull away. I told myself it was his boundary, and I needed to respect it. Three years. Every single day. Until my birthday, when I went to the fish market to buy something for soup. I was passing a stall when my feet stopped dead. There was Ethan, standing behind the counter in an apron streaked with dried blood, bringing a cleaver down on a fish for a customer with practiced ease. Beside him stood a young woman, holding a plate of sashimi. She dipped a slice in soy sauce and lifted it to his mouth. He opened up without hesitation, barely chewed before swallowing it down. The girl flashed him a smile. He set the knife down, tilted his head, and kissed her on the lips. The fish market was deafening, but standing there, I couldn’t hear a thing. In that moment, it hit me all at once— I didn’t love him anymore. … A sharp ache tore through my chest. Not because I’d caught him with another woman. But because I pitied myself—three years of bending over backward, and for what? What a joke. For three years, just to eat fish, I’d hidden outside with my plate like some stray. Every time I walked through the front door, he’d make me gargle five times before he’d let me so much as touch him. And yet just now—both their mouths fresh with raw fish, no rinsing at all. Right there in that reeking market, he’d kissed her deeply. My stomach lurched. Disgusted. Nauseated. I lifted my foot gently and walked forward. My heels clicked against the stone path. They heard someone approaching and pulled apart instantly. “Welcome, ma’am… Can I—” Ethan’s face was all smiles as he greeted me, but the moment he saw who it was, the color drained from his face. I didn’t look at him. Didn’t care what his reaction was. I pulled out my wallet, took out some bills, and turned to the girl selling fish: “I’d like a fish. The bigger, the better.” She clearly had no idea who I was. She glanced back at the tanks and gave me an apologetic look: “Sorry, gorgeous—you got here a little late. We’re all sold out. Would you like to reserve one for tomorrow?” I shook my head. My voice was calm: “I’m not late. I got here the moment the market opened.” Ethan, standing off to the side, went visibly rigid again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his fingers trembling. “Oh—then how come you’re only buying now?” I smiled at her: “Now seems like perfect timing, doesn’t it? There’s still one fish left.” She didn’t quite follow. Instinctively, she turned to look. There was one fish left in the tank—dead, no telling how long. She waved her hands frantically: “Oh no, miss—that one’s dead. It’s not fresh. We can’t sell it to you.” I kept smiling: “It’s fine. It’s just dead—it’s not dirty. Give me a little discount and I’ll take it. After all, it is my birthday.” Ethan’s head snapped up. His expression darkened. “Oh no, miss—that one’s dead. It’s not fresh. We can’t sell it to you.” I kept smiling: “It’s fine. It’s just dead—it’s not dirty. Give me a little discount and I’ll take it. After all, it is my birthday.” Ethan’s head snapped up. His expression darkened further. A flicker of barely concealed delight passed through the girl’s eyes. She put on a show of reluctance and nodded: “Oh… well, alright then. But my boyfriend can’t help you clean it—he’s been at it all morning, he’s exhausted. You understand…” Before I could say a word, Ethan had already scooped the fish out, pulling on his gloves with practiced efficiency: “It’s fine, Mia. I’ve got it. Just one more.” The girl—Mia—gave me an apologetic smile, then rose on her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on his cheek: “Thanks, babe.” Something lodged itself in my chest, pressing down until I could barely breathe. Ethan stunned the fish and asked me: “How do you want it?” “Sashimi.” My answer made his hand freeze again. He pressed his lips together, silent for a long time before finally speaking: “This one isn’t fresh enough for sashimi. You’ll get sick.” I looked at him. The hurt crept up before I could stop it: “Is this fish the one that’s not fresh—or was it never fresh to begin with?” Ethan stiffened. He set down his tools and tossed the fish back into the tank: “Sorry. This one’s not for sale.” “I want to eat fish on my birthday.” He stood there, frozen, utterly lost. Mia finally picked up on the tension between us. She asked cautiously: “Ethan… do you two… know each other?” Ethan shot me a desperate look. He wanted me to say no. In three years of marriage, this was the first time he’d ever asked me for anything. And it was for another woman. Whatever warmth was left in my heart cooled, degree by degree. I closed my eyes. Gave him what he wanted. Let a single line fall: “No. I don’t know him.” Eyes burning red, I turned and walked away. What he didn’t know was this: It wasn’t just the fish I was giving up. It was him.
Back home, Ethan’s texts came flooding in. “Wait for me at home. I’ll explain everything.” “I remembered your birthday. I got you a present. I’m already on my way back…” Message after message, all the same hollow promises. I didn’t reply to a single one. I just sat in front of my computer screen, staring at the overseas job offer, my cursor hovering over the “Accept” button for the longest time. My mind drifted through our three years of dating, our three years of marriage. There had been so much good. But now I couldn’t tell which parts were real and which were lies. He’d told me he hated fish, couldn’t stand the smell. Yet there he’d stood in the fishiest place in the city, kissing a girl who sold fish for a living. He was supposed to be the youngest, most promising professor at the university. The upstanding educator. The gentle husband who treated me with courtesy and respect. And in the blink of an eye, he was gutting fish for some market girl—willingly, eagerly… Tears pooled at the rims of my eyes. The sun sank behind the western hills. The house went dark. Night fell. Ethan didn’t come home. No explanation. No messages. I pressed my hand over my mouth and finally let myself cry. That job offer—the one that had been sitting in my inbox for a week—I quietly clicked Accept. So be it. It was time for this to end. When I was done, I contacted a lawyer. Drafted a divorce agreement. Calculated the division of marital assets. Ethan pushed through the door late that night. I was sitting in the living room, the divorce papers on the coffee table in front of me. He stood in the doorway, staring at the back of my head in surprise. His first words weren’t an explanation. They were a confession: “My relationship with Mia isn’t what you think.” “Four years ago, I was out at sea on a research expedition. There was an accident. She saved my life.” “Everything I’ve done—it’s to repay that debt.” “She has no one. I’m all she has in this world. Without me, she wouldn’t survive.” “But you’re different. You have family. You have friends. She has nothing but me.” The ache in my chest returned, sharp and raw. My nose stung. I asked him: “There are a thousand ways to repay a debt. Did it have to be by cheating?” He exploded. Hurled his jacket to the floor, jabbed a finger at me, and shouted: “Clara! Who said anything about cheating? Mia and I—it’s been nothing more than a kiss! Nothing else has happened between us!” This was the first time Ethan had ever raised his voice at me. The first time in three years of marriage. I swallowed the bitterness rising inside me and asked: “Fine. I understand. I accept. But if you can eat her fish, why the hell couldn’t you let me eat mine at home?” He faltered. The fury on his face slowly retreated. He stepped forward and pulled me gently into his arms. The stench of fish clung to him, thick and nauseating. I wanted to retch. I struggled, but I was no match for his strength. He spoke: “Clara, you and she are different.” “You come from a good family. You’re beautiful. You have parents who adore you.” “But her?” “She doesn’t know who I really am. Doesn’t know where her own parents are.” “All she wants is for me to be there for her. She doesn’t care about anything else. I have to give her something.” Give her something? I laughed—furious, incredulous—and looked him dead in the eye: “So you gave me the lie that you hate fish, and then went and ate with her?” “No!” “Then what?” “I promised her I’d only ever share meals with her. For the rest of my life.” The air around us went still. I stared at him, red-eyed, brimming with disappointment. The last trembling flame inside me—the one still hoping we had a chance—flickered out. He opened his mouth, then stopped: “Don’t look at me like that…” I praised him. Lavished him with praise: “Ethan, you are so noble! So selfless! You’ve managed to draw such a clean line—even over something as simple as eating fish—keeping her and me in our tidy separate boxes!” “Clara, don’t do this. I haven’t betrayed our vows. I haven’t betrayed our marriage. I just—” “Ethan!” I said his name deliberately, cutting off whatever excuse was coming next. His gaze trembled. I said it softly: “Let’s get a divorce.” The tears and the words came at the same time. Because I’d never imagined there would be a day when Ethan and I would divorce. His pupils shook. He stammered: “Clara, this isn’t what I want—I never wanted to lose you! I—!” His phone rang in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and every word of his plea died in his throat. I said quietly: “Answer it. Someone’s calling this late—she’s probably in trouble.” Ethan tried to soothe me with one hand while rushing to the window to take the call. As if to prove to me that there was truly nothing between them, he left it on speaker: “Ethan, the harbor flooded! All those fish you caught for me today—they’re gone, every last one!” “Please, can you come help me!” Ethan looked back at me. His eyes were full of pleading. I lowered my gaze and said softly: “Go, Ethan. Those fish are her livelihood.” Relief washed over him. He didn’t even manage a goodbye before bolting out the door. The moment it slammed shut— the clock on the wall pointed to midnight. The house was silent. As if no one had come home at all. I whispered to myself: “Happy thirtieth birthday, Clara.” “From now on, you’ll be celebrating alone.”
I barely slept that night. My dreams were restless. I dreamed of being little—Mom and Dad gathered around me, a birthday cake glowing with candles, telling me to make a wish. I said I wanted fish on every birthday. I dreamed of our wedding day. My father walking me down the aisle, handing me off to Ethan with tears in his eyes, pleading: “My daughter has one simple love—fish. Promise me you’ll never make her suffer for it.” Ethan promised without hesitation. But when I woke up in the morning, the pillow was soaked with tears. The other side of the bed was cold and empty. Only a message on my computer confirmed that my flight for tomorrow’s onboarding had been booked—reporting instructions attached. I pulled myself together, drafted a resignation letter, and headed to the university where Ethan worked. I’d had better job prospects once. But Ethan said he wanted us to see each other all the time. I couldn’t bear to be apart from him either, so I’d ignored my father’s objections, given it all up. Applied through the university’s spousal employment program, went through the whole hiring process, and settled for an administrative position at the same school. And now look at the wreckage. On the way to the office building, a colleague spotted me and smiled: “Clara! Here so early to see Professor Ethan?” “Didn’t he tell you? Three months ago, he moved all his morning classes to the afternoon.” I froze. Then nodded: “He told me.” He hadn’t told me. Every morning, same as always, he’d said he was going to teach. When really, he’d been getting up at dawn to help Mia gut fish. A man who once refused to drag himself out of bed to pick up a package for me—getting up every single morning to butcher fish for another woman. Laughable. Truly laughable. Not laughing at him. At myself. I walked into the office of the administrator who handled resignations. Placed my letter on his desk. He looked visibly startled: “Clara? You’re leaving?” “Why? Does Professor Ethan know about this?” I nodded, smiling: “He’s well aware.” Despite his suspicion, he stamped the papers. Back at home, someone was cooking in the kitchen. A girl with red-rimmed eyes sat on the living room sofa. Mia. She saw me and jumped to her feet: “Clara—hi, I’m—” I raised my hand. Told her she didn’t need to say any more. I didn’t even want to ask why Ethan had brought her here. I headed for the bedroom to pack. But Ethan, wearing an apron, called after me: “Clara, wait.” I turned and looked at him—every inch the domestic husband. Looked at the pot on the stove, fragrant with fish soup. Three years, and he’d never once cooked for me. I laughed. Shook my head and reached for the bedroom door. He grabbed my arm, frowning: “I told Mia about us.” That surprised me. I stopped and looked at him: “Shouldn’t you have done that a long time ago?” Ethan’s face twisted with shame. Mia walked over, head bowed, tears streaming: “I’m so sorry, Clara. This is all my fault. I had no idea about you two.” “I’ve caused Ethan so much trouble. I’ve… I’ve already broken up with him.” “I won’t bother you again.” I felt nothing. Not a ripple. I turned to Ethan: “The breakup—did you agree to it?” Ethan choked, clearly not expecting me to remain unmoved. He cleared his throat, sidestepped the question, and pulled both me and Mia to the dining table: “Your birthday present.” “Fish soup. I made it myself.” I stared at the pot he set before me for a long time. Ladled out a bowl. Tasted it. It was delicious. Truly delicious. But it was too late. “Well? Is it good, Clara? Let me tell you—” “Ethan, I’ve already signed the divorce papers. They’re right there on the table. Sign whenever you get a chance.” “This home—I’m leaving it to the two of you.” I cut him off bluntly. His face went rigid. I sighed, stood, and stepped away from the table. Mia’s face turned white. She kept gesturing frantically at Ethan. Ethan’s expression blackened. He slammed his palm on the table. “Clara! Don’t push your luck! Don’t act like you’re the victim here—Mia has it worse than you!” “Ethan, stop—” “No! She needs to hear this. She needs to know she has no idea how to be understanding!” I stood still. Turned to face him: “Go ahead, Ethan. What is it this time?” His expression turned vicious. He hurled the words at me: “Mia is carrying my child!” My mouth opened, but nothing came out. All that was left inside me was a cold so sharp it burned. His fury didn’t stop: “And yet she chose to break up with me—for the sake of our marriage!” “She’s going to raise this baby alone! She’s going to be a single mother—can you even imagine how hard that will be?” “Clara, even if I’ve done something wrong, I am your husband and you are my wife. Can’t you show a little understanding? Does it have to come to this?” I looked at Mia’s belly. Paused for a moment. Well. I should have seen this coming. My eyes dimmed. I said quietly: “Then as of right now, I am no longer your wife.” I turned and walked out the door, ignoring the raging shouts behind me. All I took were my documents. Everything else—I didn’t need anymore.
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