My husband, a hotel reviewer, sent intimate videos to female clients during work. “Babe, which hotel tonight?” “Your place, handsome~” Staring at their chat history, I picked up the lace lingerie that didn’t belong to me and confronted him. With his neck covered in hickeys, he scoffed, “After ten years of marriage, you suspect me of cheating?” “It’s just a tactic to entertain clients,” he said dismissively. I listened to his explanation quietly, without comment. Later, I ran into him at a hotel, my belly swollen with pregnancy. This time, he froze for a moment, his eyes bloodshot as he gripped my chin, “Tell me! Whose child is it?” I smiled, removing his hand, and pretended to be a stranger, “It’s none of this gentleman’s business, is it?” (1) This was the 99th time Jack Gordon failed to report his schedule to me. I had been staking out the airport for a month. At 3:30 AM, he finally got off the plane but headed straight for the Rose Hotel across from the airport. I followed him to the hotel entrance. Emma Rose, his female client, was waiting for him. As soon as they met, they started kissing passionately. Emma clung to his waist, her black lace strap slipping off to reveal her pale skin. She wrapped her arms around Jack’s neck and purred, “Honey, do I taste better than that old hag of yours?” “She’s dry as a bone. You’re much more delicious,” Jack teased, squeezing her waist, completely oblivious to my presence behind them. “Ten years of marriage and not even a hint of pregnancy. She’s just getting older and uglier.” I clenched my fists, the hot water bottle I’d prepared for him in my coat now half cold. Jack let go of Emma and unwrapped the scarf from his neck, putting it around her instead. “This scarf? That old hag gathered wool from the prairie herself to make it. Spent countless nights on it. I couldn’t bear to use it, so I’m giving it to you.” Emma pouted, “I don’t want it. Just thinking about her making it makes me feel dirty.” The scarf was carelessly tossed near the trash can, mixing with food scraps. Jack’s eyes swept over the scarf, a hint of disgust in his gaze. “Fine, I’ll buy you a new one next time, much prettier than what she made. Looking at this scarf now makes me sick!” The stench of rotting food wafted over, and he covered his nose in disgust, keeping his distance. Emma clung to his arm as they entered the hotel. “Well, you can warm me up in bed later. I heard this Rose Hotel symbolizes staying with your soulmate forever.” Jack held her hand tightly. “I want to be with you forever and always.” His words floated into my ears, leaving a hollow in my heart. They went into the hotel and got a room. In the middle of the night, I dragged my exhausted body home. Jack had posted on social media: “Checking in on the wife.” The post included a review of the Rose Hotel. But reflected in the computer screen was a woman covered in hickeys. (2) My fingertips instantly went numb as I realized what a hypocrite Jack truly was. Jack came home the next day, carrying a box with an expensive lipstick. “Honey, I’m back. I brought you a gift,” he said cheerfully, pushing the box into my hands. “Open it and see if it’s the shade you like.” I opened the lipstick. The bright red color didn’t suit me at all. I had told him countless times that I hated this shade. “Do you like it, honey?” Jack leaned in with a smile, the bright red lipstick marks on his neck stinging my eyes. Seems like someone else’s trash. My lips stiffened as I put the lipstick away and pointed at his neck. “Where’s the scarf I made you?” “Ah…” Jack stumbled over his words for a moment. “Since you made it yourself, I couldn’t bear to use it. I put it in my suitcase, but it got lost during the flight.” Liar! I dug my nails into my palms. That scarf had probably ended up in a landfill by now! “Honey, I really didn’t mean to lose it,” Jack nuzzled my shoulder like a puppy. “Please forgive me.” “Okay.” I agreed. After all, when you’ve been disappointed enough times, you stop caring. “Thank you, honey!” He kissed me happily, then wagged his tail as he went into the kitchen. “To make it up to you, I’ll make you breakfast!” This was the first breakfast Jack had made in our ten years of marriage. (3) At the dining table. Jack enthusiastically put cilantro in my bowl. “I remember, sweetie. You love cilantro and hate celery, so I made a big plate of cilantro. Eat up!” He got it wrong. Jack had mixed it up. The cilantro in my bowl made me want to throw up. I put down my chopsticks and looked him straight in the eye. “Jack, you got it wrong. I hate cilantro and love celery.” Jack’s smile froze. He peeled some shrimp and put it in my bowl. “I read online that shrimp peeled by your lover is a unique sign of love. Come on, don’t be mad.” “Jack, I’m allergic to seafood.” The air stood still for two seconds. Jack’s eyes flickered with emotion. “Lily, there’s a limit to how much you can sulk, you know?” “It’s just a stupid scarf. It’s not worth much anyway.” It wasn’t just a stupid scarf. It was wool I had gathered from a 1,200-mile journey to the prairie, processed and knitted over an entire year. “Jack, you know the story behind that scarf,” I said, holding back the pain. He had seen everything I did. When he first got the scarf, he almost kissed it: “Honey, I’ll cherish this gift from you forever. I’ll never throw it away!” But he was the first to discard it. “So what?” Jack said disdainfully. He put on his coat and walked to the door. “In a few years, it would’ve just been an old rag anyway.” He left without a second thought. I opened our couple’s location-sharing app. He was driving towards the Rose Hotel from last night. So that’s why he left in such a hurry. His little mistress was waiting for him. I laughed bitterly, my heart growing cold. Then, Jack sent another message. In the video, Jack was passionately kissing Emma’s neck, carrying her to the bed. He quickly deleted the video and sent a picture instead: [I remember you studied art. Can you draw a portrait using “Emma Rose” as the name?] The woman in the picture was young and pretty, with round cheeks that exuded innocence and childlike charm. I remembered Jack saying he liked this type of woman, and that I wasn’t his type. [If I see the finished product before I get off work, I might consider making dinner tonight.] In ten years of marriage, I always cooked. Now, making one meal became a condition for drawing a portrait of his mistress. I found it laughable. A moment later, Jack sent another message: [Did you see the video I accidentally sent earlier?] Yes, I saw it clear as day! I opened my local storage and, like a masochist, watched the entire three-hour video. In the end, I couldn’t help but rush to the bathroom to throw up the bitter water in my stomach. It was disgusting! My tears fell one by one. Jack’s voice from the video kept echoing in my ears: “I’ve been disgusted by that old hag for ages! Having to pretend I like her, I feel like puking every time I see her!” “Making her cook every day, she doesn’t even know how to take care of herself. Now she doesn’t have half your beauty!” “And she’s all dried up now, bone-dry every day. How can that compare to how wet and juicy you are, always keeping me satisfied?” After throwing up, I wiped away my tears. I went to the studio. Every painting there was of him; I rarely painted subjects I liked anymore. I’ll pick up the brush for him one last time, then leave him. (4) I’m good at oil painting, but not very skilled at name sketches. After drawing for half a day, I finally finished the draft. Jack came home from work. “Does this look like her?” Jack seemed unsatisfied with my drawing and casually tore it from the easel. It was the one I was most satisfied with, among the pile of discarded drafts on the floor. “Lily, you can draw me so well. Why can’t you do the same for Emma?” Jack frowned. “No dinner until you draw it properly.” I gripped the pencil tightly, tears welling up in my eyes. “Is she that important to you?” Jack sighed and came to my side, squeezing my shoulders. “Honey, what are you thinking? She’s my client, of course I have to treat her well.” “Honey, I know you’ve been upset lately. Didn’t I promise you could taste my cooking once you finished the drawing?” “I’m sorry I mixed up your tastes this morning. Look, I bought a bunch of celery on my way home, just to cook for you.” “Is that so…” I mumbled, my eyes dimming. “Jack, do you know I’m good at oil painting, not name sketches?” “Isn’t it all the same? You have an art background, you can draw anything,” Jack gripped my hands tightly, asking with expectation, “Honey, I know you can do it, right?” I pulled my hands away without answering. He whispered a warning in my ear: “Lily, I’ve been patient with you for a long time. Why do you always make me angry?” I stayed up for three nights, revising and redrawing until Jack was finally satisfied. That night, Jack made a table full of dishes, filling my bowl with celery. “Honey, you’ve finally become the obedient Lily again. I don’t know what was wrong with you these past few days, always disobeying. Now that I’ve starved you for three days, you’re back to your old self.” Recently, Jack had been coming home late with a neck full of hickeys, rejecting one drawing after another. He hadn’t given me a single bite to eat, locking me in the studio. I survived only by drinking tap water from the studio sink. I ate without tasting anything and silently returned to my room, opening my phone. A message from Charlie popped up. He was the assistant to the investor of the largest exhibition hall in South City. [Ms. Summer, our investor really admires your work and hopes you can bring your paintings to the exhibition.] The message was from three days ago. South City was my hometown, over a thousand kilometers away. My heart stirred, and I replied with a simple “okay.” As I put down my phone, Jack hugged me from behind. “Honey, why are you ignoring me? I’ve been begging you so humbly, even setting aside my male pride.” The only time Jack had ever begged me was with threatening words. I don’t know how many fights we’ve had. Every time, he dealt with it by giving me the silent treatment. I had begged him countless times. The worst time, he made me kneel. I knelt for a day, my kneecaps swollen, before he finally opened the door, acting like a different person as he helped me up. I pried Jack’s fingers off me one by one and turned my back to him to sleep. “Lily, you’re going too far,” Jack said, his face dark. “Anyone can play the silent treatment game. You’ll end up kneeling and begging me again.” He took the blanket and went to sleep in the study. His bag was left on the bedside table. I rummaged through it and found a lace lingerie that wasn’t mine and a phone. I tried to enter the password. It opened; Jack hadn’t changed it. The phone’s wallpaper had long been changed to a photo of him and Emma. He was so sure I wouldn’t check his phone. Unfortunately, he had betrayed my trust. I opened WeChat and scrolled through the chat history. [Babe, which hotel tonight?] [Your place, handsome~] [No way, that old hag is still at home. I’m sick of her. The bed she sleeps in is disgusting.] [Then I’ll punish you to do the positions from the video.] One intimate chat after another, one suggestive video after another. I couldn’t even imagine how many positions they had tried in bed. I opened the notes app, where Jack had written his diary: [The old hag isn’t behaving at all. Making such a fuss about drawing a portrait for my baby. I’ll show her by starving her for three days!] [I think making her kneel was too light a punishment. She needs something harsher!] [She’s learned to give me the silent treatment, huh? She can’t live without me anyway. I’ll make her crawl back and apologize!] I clenched my fists, picked up the lace lingerie, went to the study, and knocked on the door. “Let’s get a divorce, Jack.” Instantly, the door swung open. (5) In the living room. I placed the phone and lace lingerie on the coffee table. “After ten years of marriage, you suspect me of cheating?” “It’s just a tactic to entertain clients.” Jack scoffed, his neck covered in hickeys, as he picked up the lace lingerie and rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s just some women’s clothing and some chat messages. Don’t you trust me at all?” “Honey, I’m just trying to earn some extra money for our family. Can’t you be more understanding?” Understanding? The dirty tactics listed in his notes stabbed deep into my heart. The endless stream of chat messages made me sick to my stomach! “Jack, I can’t be understanding. I can’t accept seeing my beloved sending one suggestive video after another to his female clients. I can’t bear to see my beloved trying positions with his female client that I’ve never even seen. Most of all, I can’t accept that my sincere love isn’t reciprocated!” I stared into his eyes and said, word by word: “Jack, you starved me for three days, made me kneel, then acted nice to me again. I’ve had enough of this life. Let’s end it!”
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