My husband’s first love was seriously ill, and every day he secretly took the meals I cooked to her, treating me like his personal, unpaid maid. When our son found out, he didn’t side with me. Instead, he helped my husband hide it, and even accused me of having a dirty mind and being petty. The father and son were in cahoots, playing me for a fool. I watched them with cold eyes, deciding to finally get rid of both of those jerks. The moment Mark walked through the door, he ordered our son, Liam, to wash the dirty lunchbox he’d used for lunch. Liam was a senior in high school, a crucial year for college admissions. Hearing this, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger. I glared at Mark, who was sprawled on the couch. “What, are your hands broken? You need to order our son around just to wash a lunchbox?” Mark didn’t say a word. Liam, holding the lunchbox, chuckled, “It’s fine, Mom. Dad works hard all day. I should wash his lunchbox.” Liam headed to the sink, but he gasped as the cold water hit his hands. Seeing his hands turn red from the cold, I sighed. “Go on, I’ll do it.” Liam didn’t argue much, just said, “Thanks, Mom,” and left the kitchen. I tossed the lunchbox into the sink. Just as I was about to turn on the faucet, a splash of red on the spoon caught my eye. A clear red stain was printed on the milky-white ceramic spoon. I wiped it with my finger, and most of the red came off. As a woman, I knew a lipstick stain when I saw one. For years, Mark had always complained that my cooking was bland. But lately, he’d been asking me to cook more light, nutritious meals, insisting he needed to take them to work. Considering Mark’s sudden change in taste, I thought to myself, there had to be something fishy going on. The thought of Mark ordering me around like I was his personal chef, demanding this and that every day, made my anger boil. My mind was still reeling from the frustration when Liam’s voice suddenly broke through. “Mom, is dinner ready? I’m starving!” I snapped back to reality, looking at the spoon in my hand. I pulled out my phone and took a few pictures. I knew Mark too well. If I confronted him now, it wouldn’t lead anywhere. He’d come up with a hundred excuses and justifications. I needed solid proof.
As soon as the food was on the table, Mark grabbed his lunchbox and started piling things in. He poured out most of the chicken soup, took a few forks of vegetables, and then started on the steamed fish. The fish wasn’t very big to begin with, and he only took the best parts, leaving behind mostly the head and tail. Normally, I would have yelled at him already, but today, I just watched him in silence. Liam couldn’t help but glance at me; he really loved that fish. Just a few days ago, when Mark was shamelessly serving himself like this, I’d scolded him every time. And every time, Liam would try to calm me down: “Mom, Dad works so hard every day, it’s only right that he eats more.” Listen to that. As if I didn’t work every day, as if my job wasn’t tiring. Whenever I got angry at Mark’s laziness, selfishness, or hypocrisy, Liam would always side with his dad, telling me to be more understanding, just like his grandma. Fine. You two have your father-son bond, and I’m just the villain. So today, I didn’t care. I had no energy to care. Mark wasn’t stupid. Seeing my prolonged silence, he sensed something was off. He quickly picked two pieces of fish from his lunchbox and put them in Liam’s bowl. “Son, eat more. Try to get great scores on your college entrance exams and make your mother proud.” I couldn’t help but scoff. “What do you mean ‘make *me* proud’? Whatever he achieves is for himself.” Mark “tsk”-ed, annoyed. “Isn’t that just a way of saying it because you work so hard taking care of him? What’s got your panties in a twist today?” I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. Instead, I looked at his overflowing lunchbox. It was a three-tiered container. One layer was filled with most of the chicken soup and chicken, another with most of the fish, and the last with rice. The remaining small portion of chicken and fish, all the good bits, had gone into Liam’s bowl. I had spent hours cooking, and all that was left for me were the chicken head and fish tail. Oh, wait, the fish tail was gone too; Mark had taken it. How ironic. My meal tasted like cardboard, but the father and son were chatting happily. They seemed to share a secret, talking in riddles right in front of me. In the past, even if I knew they wouldn’t tell me, I would have asked what they were talking about. But today, I was just so tired, so utterly exhausted that I barely had the strength to swallow my food. I ate only a quarter of my half-bowl of rice, and no one seemed to think anything of it. After dinner, both of them left the table as usual. Seeing that I wasn’t clearing the table as I usually did, Mark resorted to his old trick: “Liam, go wash the dishes.” Liam obediently stood up, collected the dishes and forks, and went to the kitchen. Then he turned on the faucet and called out, “It’s so cold!” But unlike usual, I didn’t tell him to leave. Liam endured washing a few dishes, then came out and said to me, “Mom, the water’s really cold, and I still have a lot of homework tonight…” “I’m not the one telling you to wash the dishes,” I said, looking at Liam. “Mom washes dishes like this every day, and I also think the water’s really cold.” Liam opened his mouth, then reluctantly went back to the kitchen. Mark lay on the couch like a king. “Who made you mad today? Don’t bring your outside problems home. Liam didn’t do anything to you.” I looked at the man sprawled on the couch, and a wave of disgust washed over me from the inside out. This disgust had been building for a long time, ever since I had witnessed his laziness, selfishness, and hypocrisy again and again. But before this, the disgust had always been suppressed. Because “that’s just how life is,” “it’s just a small thing, don’t overreact,” “all men are like this,” “just endure it and it will pass.” This disgust had been stifled and held back by suffocating conventions, until today, when it finally erupted. I gagged, a dry heave directed at Mark’s face. Mark frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” I stood up, gathered the trash, and muttered, “You’re stinking up the place. I’m going to take out the trash.” Mark grumbled, “Why are you taking out the trash so late at night?” He didn’t offer to do it, nor did he offer to come with me. I breathed a sigh of relief.
The dash cam in Mark’s car had been broken for half a month. When he told me, I urged him to get a new one right away, but he said he was an experienced driver and didn’t need it. Looking back, that must have been when things started to go wrong. I uninstalled my car’s dash cam and put it in his. I’d bought a very small dash cam back then to save money, and now it was coming in handy. After doing all this, I quietly waited for Mark to slip up. And slip up he did, the very next day. During his lunch break, Mark drove to the hospital. Everything started to make sense. Because that woman was sick, he had been subtly asking me to cook light and nutritious things. On the way to the hospital, I was still thinking that after I caught him in the act, I’d divorce him later. Liam’s college entrance exams were next semester, and he was under a lot of pressure. As a mother, I couldn’t ignore my son’s future just for immediate gratification. I also thought that no matter what, I should keep this from Liam for now. What I didn’t expect was to run into Liam directly when I arrived at the hospital. Liam was talking to a girl next to him and didn’t see me. The girl was quite pretty, with big eyes and fair skin, very much like a face I remembered. My heart skipped a beat. I quickly asked the nurse nearby, “Do you have a patient named Michelle Smith here? I’m her friend, and I’d like to see her.” The nurse said, “Michelle Smith is on the fourth floor of the inpatient department, room 402.”
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