I went to pick up my drunk husband. The moment I pushed open the club door, I heard him complaining: “My wife reeks of grease and cooking smoke. Makes me want to puke.” His secretary cut him off with a flirty whine, “If you hate her so much, why don’t you just divorce her?” Marcus ran his hand along her thigh, eyes glazed over: “She’s just a free maid. How could she compare to you?” When he noticed me standing in the doorway, he froze. Then he stumbled over to me: “I was just messing around with my friends. Don’t take it seriously.” Whether it was a joke or not didn’t matter anymore. I’d received a job offer from another city. In seven days, I could finally dump this drunk of a husband. Marcus clearly relaxed when he saw I wasn’t angry. He waved awkwardly at the others: “My wife and I are heading home.” Barely suppressed laughter and gossip followed us out. “Claire used to be the Queen Bee at school. Can’t believe her body turned out like this.” Back home, Marcus woke up in a daze and leaned in to kiss me: “Happy birthday, honey. I really had too much to drink today. I was talking nonsense. I’m sorry.” I turned my head away. He followed, wrapping his arms around me from behind: “Are you really mad? I messed up. I won’t drink anymore.” “Let me make it up to you right now?” His hand slid down habitually. “Claire, we should have a baby.” I closed my eyes. “Marcus, I’m tired. I need some quiet.” He mumbled: “Fine, whatever you want.” Ten years as a housewife. Every day shopping for groceries, cooking, cleaning. Every friend who visited praised how warm and tidy our home was. My hands were covered in calluses from exhaustion. But in Marcus’s eyes, I was just a maid who slept with him. The next morning, Marcus shook me awake. “Amber is coming over today to discuss company business with me. She’s been having stomach issues lately, so make something light.” “If her stomach’s bothering her, why doesn’t she eat at her own place?” Marcus said matter-of-factly, “Just make two extra dishes. How hard can it be?” How hard can it be? I sat up and looked at this man I’d loved for ten years. His brows furrowed slightly, wearing that “why are you being so unreasonable” expression. “Fine,” I said. Then turned around and ordered a whole table of takeout. Not playing maid anymore. At the dinner table, Amber sat in the seat closest to Marcus, constantly serving him food. Talking about their work stories. “Marcus, do you remember? When we went to the beach, you helped me put on sunscreen. You were so clumsy.” Marcus tapped her nose playfully: “Don’t even mention it. I almost got beaten half to death by your parents that day when we got back. They wanted me to take responsibility for you.” Amber covered her mouth: “I was just young back then. You bad boy~” Then she looked at my stomach. “Claire, you have so much fat on your belly. Could use it as a flotation device.” Marcus frowned too: “Honey, you really should lose some weight.” I touched my stomach. There was a tiny life inside. “Marcus, I…” Before I could finish, an urgent voice cut me off. “Claire, Amber and I have work to discuss.” Before finishing his sentence, Marcus and Amber went into the study together. Instantly, a wave of nausea surged through me. I forced down the disgust and slowly walked to the study door. Soon, muffled panting came from behind the wall, mixed with Amber’s moaning. “Marcus, ah, me or your wife, who’s better?” Marcus grunted in response, “Of course it’s Amber. You’re so sexy! I love you the most.” So careful, so affectionate. Turns out Marcus at thirty could still go at it. After listening for a while, right when they were finishing up, I knocked on the study door. The sounds inside suddenly stopped. Marcus’s voice came out hoarse: “What is it, Claire?” “Looking for something.” The door opened. Marcus sat in his chair drenched in sweat, while Amber leaned against the desk, face flushed. “Is Amber okay?” I took a step forward. “Just feeling a bit off. I’ll take a shower and be fine. You do your thing, Claire.” She ran off. Marcus chased after her, “Amber’s not feeling well, I’ll go check on her.” I pulled out the ultrasound report from the drawer. If Marcus had really been discussing work, he would have seen it when he opened the drawer. I’d originally planned to tell Marcus this surprise, turn down the job offer, and settle down to prepare for the baby. Not anymore. Because the baby had already miscarried. And I was completely done with him! I tore the ultrasound report to shreds and tossed it in the trash. When I came out, I saw Amber wearing that silk nightgown I’d been too precious to wear myself.
The nightgown was last year’s birthday gift from Marcus. Water blue. He said it was like the ocean, that it suited me. When she saw me, she showed no embarrassment. Instead, she tilted her head, her tone innocent and sweet. “Claire, I was just looking for nightwear and accidentally went through your closet. Everything in there looks like old lady clothes.” “Marcus just got promoted to general manager. How can he take you anywhere dressed like that?” Hearing this, Marcus’s gaze swept over my faded home clothes. “She has zero sense of style. All day around the stove, all she can think about is housework.” My expression turned cold. Amber seemed frightened, her eyes reddening: “Those clothes were too dated. This was the only decent one.” Marcus stepped in front of her, reaching out to protect her. “Why are you arguing with a young girl?” “Which part of what I said was arguing?” Amber hid behind Marcus and said quietly: “I was just trying to protect this nightgown. One touch from those hands and it’ll snag.” Marcus nodded, “Honey, just let Amber have it. The calluses on your hands will ruin it anyway.” I laughed, “How about this—you can have the husband too?” After that day, Marcus seemed a bit guilty and tried to smooth things over. He bought me flowers, apologizing awkwardly. I didn’t accept the flowers or acknowledge his apology. I started going out frequently, to the library, staying all day. I was picking up those dusty professional books again. Physics, chemistry, bioengineering, cryptography. Complex formulas and theories had once been part of my life. Later, for so-called love and family, I’d sealed them away with my own hands. But now I could restart. Marcus flipped through the books I brought home, his face full of disbelief: “Why are you reading this gibberish? Claire, you’re a housewife. Have you lost your mind? Or are you just putting on a show for me?” He was convinced I was performing, trying to get his attention. I didn’t explain. Explaining would be like talking to a brick wall. Four more days, and I’d be gone. On Amber’s twenty-fifth birthday, Marcus threw her a birthday party at our house. “Isn’t Claire coming down to join us?” “I’m not feeling well.” I lowered my eyes. Marcus put his arm around her shoulder, laughing: “Claire’s been like this lately, don’t mind her. You’re the star today.” As I turned to go upstairs, I heard Amber’s sweet voice: “Marcus, you’re so good to Claire. You’re not even mad when she acts like this.” “She’s getting older, it’s normal for her temper to get weird.” Marcus answered carelessly. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and listened to academic lecture recordings. Better to prepare early so work wouldn’t be so hard to handle. Halfway through the party, I got terribly thirsty and went downstairs for water. At the stairway landing, Amber deliberately tilted her wine glass and bumped into me. Red wine splashed all over me and her dress too. “Ah, my dress!” Amber screamed, tears immediately welling up, “Claire! Why did you push me? This is the birthday gift Marcus gave me!” The commotion drew Marcus and the guests. Amber cried, face streaked with tears, pointing at the stain on her dress, then at me. Then she whispered in my ear: “Could it be that because you’re sagging and your husband won’t buy you body-hugging dresses like this, you’re jealous of me?”
Marcus looked at Amber’s tears, his face dark with anger. He didn’t even ask me a single question. He grabbed my wrist, gripping so hard it felt like he’d crush my bones. “Claire! That’s enough!” He roared, his eyes full of fury and disappointment. “I know you’re resentful, but what did Amber ever do to you?” “She’s innocent, just trying to get along with you. And you? Look what you’ve become!” “Spiteful, vicious. Weren’t you afraid you could’ve hurt Amber pushing her like that? Apologize! Apologize to Amber right now!” The guests whispered among themselves, their eyes full of contempt for me. “I heard last time she threw a fit for days just because Amber mentioned her sagging.” “Women, after thirty, they’re all like this. Sensitive and paranoid.” “Amber’s so young and beautiful, of course she’s jealous.” I used all my strength to pry his fingers off me, one by one. “Let. Go.” He froze, apparently not expecting me to fight back. “Marcus, this kind of stunt is eight hundred years old. Only you would fall for it.” Marcus turned red with rage. Amber made a show of trying to calm things: “Maybe Claire’s just in a bad mood. I’m fine. The dress can be washed…” “It’s a limited edition! It can’t be washed clean!” Marcus got even angrier. He yanked his hand away forcefully. I stumbled backward, my back hitting the wall. I slowly slid down to the floor, a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. Marcus’s eyes were bloodshot. “You were pregnant—why didn’t you tell me earlier!” I shook my head, “What would be the point? After I gave birth, would you just start making jokes about my breast milk, my stretch marks, my loose belly?” Marcus’s expression froze. “Why are you taking jokes so seriously?” “Jokes?” I looked at him, “Every time you said my body had gone to hell, that I couldn’t compare to younger women, that I was an old hag—those were all jokes?” “Last time I spoke without thinking!” He said urgently, “I was wrong, I apologize. Whatever exercise you want to do, I’ll support you. I’ll pay for the most expensive personal trainer, the most expensive beauty treatments, okay?” He reached out to touch my face. I turned away. He came closer, hugging me from behind: “Are you really that angry? I was wrong, I was wrong. I won’t drink anymore.” “Can I make it up to you properly now?” His hand slid down habitually. “Claire, we should have a baby.” I closed my eyes. “Marcus, I’m tired. I want some peace.” He muttered: “Fine, whatever.” Ten years as a housewife. Every day grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning. All our friends praised how warm and cozy our home was. Exhausted until my hands were covered in calluses. But in Marcus’s eyes, I was just a maid who slept with him. The next afternoon, Marcus came back, with Amber following behind him. “Claire, I’m sorry.” Her eyes were red and swollen, like she’d been crying for hours, “I hope you can forgive me.” Her attitude was impeccably sincere. Marcus said: “Amber felt so guilty she hasn’t eaten all day. She insisted on coming to see you. Claire, she’s apologized like this, just let it go.” I looked at the two of them, one handsome and wealthy, one young and beautiful, standing together like a poster for a romance series. And me, lying in a hospital bed, pale-faced, body out of shape, the picture of a bitter wife.
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