Chapter 2
I threw off the covers, got out of bed, and handed him the hospital paperwork from the nightstand. "Congratulations. You saved the wrong person last night. Your wife was the one who almost passed out at home."
When he saw the words "acute high fever with lung infection" on the form, his face changed slightly.
But that was it.
The next second, he came out with the same line he always used. "You're sick, and you're upset. I'm not going to argue with you."
I stared at him, and something in my chest went hollow.
Even after all this, he still thought I was just being dramatic.
I nodded, surprisingly calm.
"Eric, let's get a divorce," I said.
He looked totally caught off guard.
He had never expected me to say it that fast or that plainly.
A few seconds later, he scoffed, cold and dismissive.
"Seriously? You're asking for a divorce just because I went downstairs to give our neighbor some medicine?"
"It's not just this one time," I said.
"Then what else?" he shot back, giving me that look like I was making a scene. "Laura, spit it out."
I didn't say anything right away.
Because I realized, if I tried to count them all, there'd be way too many.
There had been so many that I couldn't remember when it started, when I, his wife, began losing my place to the girl next door.
Sophia moved in six months ago.
She was twenty-four, pretty in a soft, wide-eyed way, and she smiled at everyone. She called me Laurie and Eric Ricky, like the three of us were old friends.
The first time she rang our doorbell, it was because her lightbulb was out.
The second time, she couldn't get the hot water working.
The third time, her cat went missing.
The fourth time, she had a leaking pipe.
The fifth time, she had bad cramps.
The sixth time, she couldn't get any sleep.
The seventh time, she twisted her ankle.
The eighth time, she was burning up with a fever.
Every single time, she always went to Eric first.
And every single time, Eric would shrug and say, "She lives alone and it isn't easy for her. I help out when I can."
It wasn't as if I had never brought up boundaries.
I had brought them up more times than I could count.
I told him not to go over to her place in the middle of the night.
I told him not to lend out the spare key.
I told him that if she couldn't carry her packages, she could call the building manager instead of him.
I told him we were married, and if he kept acting like that, people would get the wrong idea.
But every time, Eric got impatient.
"Come on, is it really such a big deal?
"She just thinks of me like an older brother.
"Are you being too sensitive?
"She's a neighbor. Can you stop assuming the worst about her?"
I could never win an argument with him, so eventually I stopped bringing it up.
But keeping quiet didn't mean it stopped hurting.
On my birthday, we had barely started cutting the cake when Sophia posted in the building group chat.
Sophia: [My door lock is broken. Can anybody help?]
Eric put down the knife and left.
The day my mom had surgery, I called him to cover for me at the hospital for an hour so I could go pay the bills and pick up her meds.
But he was at the vet clinic, helping Sophia get an X-ray for her cat.
The day of my promotion review, Sophia said her power had gone out. Eric drove off halfway there and left me at the office trying to hail a cab in the rain, and my proposal got soaked through.
It wasn't that he didn't have time.
He gave his time to someone else.
And I was always the one left waiting.
"Are you finished?" Eric asked, his face growing darker with every word.
"Laura, why are you bringing up old stuff now? You know there's nothing going on between me and Sophia."
"Whether you have feelings for her or not doesn't matter," I said.
I looked him straight in the eye, making sure he heard every word. "What matters is, everything you do just proves to me, again and again, that I don't matter to you."
He looked like my words had hit a nerve, his brows knitting together.
"When did I ever say you didn't matter?" Eric snapped, his voice tight with frustration.
"Last night," I said quietly.
I let out a soft, bitter laugh. "You didn't show up last night, and that was the answer."
He was quiet for a few seconds, his voice softer, almost apologetic.
"I wasn't thinking straight last night. I'm sorry, alright?"
"It's too late," I said.
I lay back down on the hospital bed and turned my back to him, because I didn't want to see his face anymore.
"I'll move out after I'm discharged. I'll draft the divorce papers and send them to you," I said.
He stood by my bed for a long time.
In the end, Eric tossed out, "Take a few days and calm down."
Then he walked out.
He left the bag of soup untouched.
I stayed in the hospital for three days.
Eric showed up every day with flowers, meals, and medicine. His tone was gentler than usual, like he was trying to make amends.
But every time he came by, all I could see was that night, him downstairs feeding Sophia her medicine.
Some things, once I saw them, could never be unseen.