My husband excels at giving me the cold shoulder. Whenever he’s slightly unhappy, he slams the door and disappears for days or weeks. I’ve grown accustomed to putting on a brave face and caring for our son with a smile. Until I saw my son’s wish while helping him with homework. “I hope Mom disappears. She looks so scary when she goes crazy at Dad.” In that moment, I finally woke up. Sunday evenings are always the hardest. My procrastinating son cries as he rushes to finish homework due tomorrow, while my emotionally distant husband wears headphones, engrossed in his video game. Neither of them wants anything to do with me. My son glares at me resentfully after I scolded him to tears. My husband finds me annoying and pretends not to see me. I stand by the dining table clearing away leftovers, silently convincing myself this is all my own doing. But my heart aches unbearably. As night falls, Kevin retreats to the study to rest. Tommy falls asleep with tears still clinging to his lashes. I stand in the bathroom staring at my own bitter face. This marks the third month of Kevin’s cold shoulder treatment. A full three months – so long I’ve nearly forgotten the reason for our cold war. Under the same roof, he hasn’t spoken a word to me. I’ve stubbornly waged war against him too. He’s in the wrong, so I won’t apologize. But I can’t sleep. I walk to Tommy’s room to pack his schoolbag. I look down and notice the new notebook I bought him. In the “Rewards” column, childish handwriting reads: “I hope Mom disappears.”
I rubbed my eyes, my first reaction being that I must have misread. I pick up the notebook and walk to the living room. I read that line again. “I hope Mom disappears. She looks so scary when she goes crazy at Dad. She drove Dad away.” I collapse onto the sofa, experiencing for the first time a pain so intense it numbs me. The study light comes on. Kevin emerges, beaming. The moment he sees me, his face instantly reverts to its usual coldness. He says nothing, picking up the car keys from the coffee table. As he passes by me, I catch a whiff of his cologne. It’s the scent of gardenia. This cologne – I chose it for him when we were dating in college. Back then, he was just a nerdy engineering student who wore black-rimmed glasses and plain t-shirts with shorts, clueless about fashion. I gradually updated his style and picked out my favorite cologne for him. “Wearing cologne when meeting girls will make a good impression,” I told him. He said he’d cherish everything I chose for him. He’s used it ever since. The familiar scent begins to soften my heart, memories of happier times flooding back. I think of our ridiculous war, of our beloved son. The pain Tommy has caused makes me desperately seek a lifeline. Once again, I swallow my pride and try to make peace with Kevin. I can’t help but stand up from the sofa, grabbing his arm tightly. “Kevin, let’s talk.” I cry silently behind him. He shakes off my hand. I notice his phone shows an ongoing call. Who has he been talking to so late at night, and why did he put on cologne to meet them? “Kevin, have you left yet? I’m waiting downstairs. I’ve been craving BBQ for ages~” A girl’s coquettish voice comes through the phone. The soft, delicate voice suddenly reminds me why he’s been giving me the cold shoulder this time. I quickly turn away. But Kevin grabs my arm. He raises an eyebrow, smirking: “If you beg me, I’ll stay and keep you and Tommy company.” Kevin has always enjoyed seeing me tamed, begging for his mercy. Especially now, when another young girl is vying for his attention. His offer to stay feels like a condescending act of charity.
I can’t help but laugh bitterly: “Beg you? Was Tommy naturally conceived by me alone? Aren’t you his father too? “Is caring for our child solely my responsibility? Don’t you have any? “Do you have any idea how psychologically damaged our son has become?” Kevin frowns again, pressing his lips together. He grabs his coat and storms out, slamming the door, as if I’m some crazy shrew. The notebook where Tommy wrote about wanting me to disappear still lies on the sofa. Kevin left the study light on too. It’s always like this. Whenever there’s a problem to solve, he either says one careless word to set me off, watching me lose it. Or he simply turns his back and walks away, slamming the door. Tommy is woken by the slamming door. He walks out barefoot, standing in the doorway staring in the direction his dad left. He comes to my side, picks up the notebook I tossed on the sofa. He shows no concern that I might have seen what he wrote. He just frowns and accuses me: “Mom, why did you make Dad angry again?” I ignore him. The sound of a car starting comes from downstairs. After a few revs, a black sedan speeds away. Looks like I’ll have to bike Tommy to school again tomorrow. I look at the notebook clutched in his hand. And those eyes that look just like his father’s. For the first time, I deeply realize how trapped I’ve been by him all this time.
I force myself to walk to the bedroom and lie down. When I close my eyes, the words “Mom disappear” appear before me in big letters. To be fair, I’ve never had a hysterical meltdown in front of Tommy. To avoid conflict, I’ve even gone to great lengths to please Kevin, sacrificing my dignity. I beg Kevin to come home, beg him to hug our child. I can’t fall asleep. My phone on the nightstand lights up. It’s a message from my neighbor Sarah. “I heard your husband slam the door and leave. Did you two fight again? Are you okay?” Sarah is a friend I made when selling handmade crafts on eBay. Back then Kevin was giving me the cold shoulder. To force me to give in, he cut off my living expenses. I really had no income, so I tried my best to do odd jobs here and there to earn money. We discovered we were neighbors after chatting a bit. She even bought some of my stuff to support my business and showed concern for me. I hear Tommy closing his door. I reply: “Thanks Sarah, I’m fine.” The next morning when I get up, I feel weak all over. My eyes are swollen. Kevin is back, the gardenia scent overpowered by the smell of alcohol. He notices me, his eyes lingering on my face for just a moment before quickly looking away. This time it’s not the cold shoulder. He frowns as he walks into the bathroom, making a snide remark. “Looking like that, who are you trying to scare?” I know he’s waiting for me to fight back, to watch me have a meltdown before coldly leaving again. But I’m tired. I say nothing. He looks at me with surprise, a strange emotion flashing in his eyes. He walks into Tommy’s room affectionately. “Come on, sweetie. Daddy will take you to school today.” Two completely different attitudes, one after the other, as if he’s two different people. Father and son hold hands intimately, exchanging loving words. No one spares me a single word of concern. It’s like two knives stabbing into my chest.
When I open the door to take out the trash, I happen to run into Sarah. She sees me and insistently leads me into her apartment. She gently rolls an egg over my swollen eyes, her own eyes brimming with tears as she asks with furrowed brows: “Does it hurt?” Her concern reminds me of Kevin when we first got married. Back then, Kevin and I had no money. A-City is an expensive place, so we could only afford to rent a basement apartment in a remote area. We squeezed onto a small bed, sharing a bathroom and kitchen with others. The kitchen was quite far from our room. One time I cooked a meal in the kitchen and was carrying it back to our room when I collided head-on with someone rushing by. I instinctively turned the hot dish towards myself, burning a large patch of skin off my hand. When Kevin got home from work, I didn’t want him to worry so I deliberately wore gloves. But he still noticed. I quickly smiled and pulled my hand away saying it didn’t hurt at all. Kevin looked at my hand, frantically applying medicine. He cried just like Sarah is now. Tears falling endlessly, it seemed. I even teased him about how a grown man could cry so much. He rubbed his eyes through his tears: “Haley, I promise I’ll give you the best life in the world someday!” That night, he held me and talked all night long. “Haley, I’ll never let you get hurt again.” To this day, I still believe he truly loved me then. But when did he change? Now he and I are like two ticking time bombs tied together. Ready to explode at the slightest friction. Of course, Kevin is a dud – silent. He just spreads terrifying smoke, seeping into every corner of the air. Making me afraid, making me scream myself hoarse. When I get home, they’ve already left. The kitchen is cold, wet clothes Tommy changed out of are strewn on the bathroom floor. There are several dirty shoe prints in the living room. I sit on the sofa and open my laptop. I start drafting a divorce agreement. My educational background is no worse than Kevin’s. Before becoming a stay-at-home mom, I also graduated from a top university, passed the bar exam, got my license, and worked as a practicing lawyer for two years. I once earned a high salary, won many cases for clients, and had a brilliant career. Until I got pregnant. Kevin convinced me to quit my job and stay home with the baby. At first he said: “After your postpartum recovery period, when the baby’s a bit older, we’ll hire a full-time nanny. You can go back to work then.” Later he changed his tune: “The baby’s used to you now. My career is taking off too. If you go back to work, we’d have to hire a nanny. A nanny’s salary would be much higher than yours – it doesn’t make sense for our family. Let’s wait till our son is a bit older.” Tommy clung to me, babbling “Mama.” I softened. It’s my fault for not insisting. Looking back, Kevin’s emotional neglect started appearing bit by bit from that time.
By the time I finish drafting the agreement, it’s nearly evening. Kevin still hasn’t brought Tommy home. I habitually start to worry about Tommy’s homework, then raise my hand and slap myself hard. “Mom, you have to be cruel, just like his dad.” I get a call from Kevin. The female voice from that night is on the other end. “Sister-in-law, it’s me. Kevin’s too drunk to get home on his own. Could you come pick him up?” “Why don’t you take him? Aren’t you two close?” I glance at the divorce agreement on the table and change my mind. “Never mind, I’ll come get him.” I hang up and rush to the private room as fast as I can. The room is filled with men and women of all sorts. Besides the girl who called me, whom I’ve seen before, the rest are unfamiliar faces. But they all look at me with accusing eyes, as if I’ve failed as a housewife. Kevin sits in the main seat, face flushed red, still raising an empty glass to drink. Tommy sits beside him. His backpack is thrown on the floor. A scantily-clad woman holds him in her arms, talking to him. So this is how he takes care of our son. No wonder my years of hard work raising Tommy at home can’t compare to his occasional outings. Before I even enter, Tommy screams. “Dad, I don’t want to go home with Mom! Mom’s going to make me do homework again.” Tommy scrambles around trying to escape as if he’s seen a ghost. Kevin finally pretends to open his eyes. “Son, don’t be afraid. Daddy’s here.” Then others in the room try to reason with me: “Sister-in-law, don’t be mad at Kevin anymore. He’s been hiding out at my place for almost two months because of you.” “Same here, Kevin crashed at my place for nearly a month. My wife was getting upset.” The girl standing guard by Kevin speaks up too: “Sister-in-law, Kevin often mentions you and Tommy when we chat. He really cares about you both.” I finally realize this call wasn’t about picking up Kevin at all. They want me to cry and beg on my knees for Kevin to come home. I laugh coldly: “You keep talking about how hard it is for him. Can’t he come home on his own? Doesn’t he have legs? “I’m not suffering while taking care of our son at home, but he slams the door and leaves at the slightest disagreement and suddenly he’s the one suffering. “If being out having fun is suffering, why don’t we switch places? Kevin, stop pretending to be drunk. “Do you want me to discuss what you’ve done in private or right here in front of everyone?” The girl snuggling up to him suddenly changes expression. “Sister-in-law, it’s all just a misunderstanding.” Misunderstanding? He nearly had drunk sex with someone else and I caught him. When I asked a few questions he couldn’t answer, so he gave me the cold shoulder. Kevin is silent again, his face dark. He glances at Tommy, who dejectedly walks towards me. As he comes over, he keeps looking back longingly at Kevin, hoping his dad will call him back. That way he can keep playing and never have to study again. This is also an indirect way of asking me to leave. Let me take the kid and go, so he can stay here and keep partying. Why does it always have to be this way? I’ve had enough too. I stand my ground and take out the divorce agreement.
“Kevin, let’s get divorced.” The noisy room suddenly falls silent. Kevin finally looks up at me. His eyes show predictable clarity. In seven years of marriage, no matter how badly we fought, I had never mentioned divorce. Kevin knows my personality – once I’ve made up my mind about something, I won’t back down. He anxiously stands up from the leather sofa in the room. He walks a few steps to stand in front of me. “Are you serious?” He’s finally willing to look me in the eye and speak to me normally. He looks down at Tommy and smirks: “Haley, if you want a divorce, you’re not getting custody of our son. He’d rather stay with me anyway. Don’t be ridiculous.” Kevin is certain I’ll fight for custody. He’s not blind – he knows how much I’ve endured and suffered for our child over the years. Tommy clings tightly to his dad, glaring at me resentfully as if terrified I’ll snatch him away. “Mom I don’t want you, I want Dad.” That girl walks over too, smiling mockingly as she advises me: “Sis, at your age with no house or job, you really can’t get custody of the child. Why don’t you take the kid home? Couples shouldn’t hold grudges overnight.” I clench my teeth, gripping the agreement tightly. I knew what I’d face coming here, but seeing everyone’s disgust and disapproval of me in person still makes me falter. But I can’t. I pinch myself hard. Reminding myself: Woman, be cruel. Don’t cry. Tears are magic to those who love you, but only a joke to those who don’t. “Kevin, don’t worry. I don’t want the kid or the house in the divorce.”
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