All for One Bowl of Fish Stew

The watch my husband, Luke Blackburn, was wearing was a gift I gave him for his birthday last year.

So, it wasn't that he was too busy. Instead, he was just saving his tenderness and care for someone who needed it more.

I turned off my phone, and my stomach suddenly churned violently. I hugged the trash bin and threw up until there was nothing left.

A bitter taste spread from my throat all the way to the depths of my heart.

I set down the trash bin and started laughing all of a sudden. It turned out I'd been the real fool all along.

When I went back to the bedroom, Luke had just come out of the shower.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" he asked.

"Luke."

He looked at me curiously.

"Let's talk."

Luke set down the towel and sat on the edge of the bed across from me.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Who is Ruby Pollard to you?"

His body instantly stiffened, the color draining from his face. That flustered look of a man caught red-handed was written all over his face.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" he asked reproachfully, frowning at me. "She's my colleague—you already know that."

I nodded. "Yes, I know. I also know she likes fish stew, has beautiful curly brown hair, and that when she works late, you not only take her food but thoughtfully pick out the fish bones for her as well."

Luke's expression completely changed.

"Have you been following me? Or checking my phone?" He stood up abruptly, looming over me. "Cynthia Roth, since when did you become like this?"

I didn't move and just looked up at him calmly. "I didn't. You just weren't careful enough."

"So what? Even if I did have dinner with Ruby, what's the big deal? Are you really going to read so much into everything and make such a fuss? We've been together for ten years, and you're pregnant now. So, can you stop being so paranoid and sensitive?"

I looked at him and suddenly felt it just wasn't worth it.

"Luke, aren't you tired?"

He was struck dumb.

"Isn't it exhausting playing the devoted husband in front of me by day and the caring boyfriend in front of her by night?"

"I'm not doing any of that," he instinctively blurted out, but his voice had already gone hollow.

"Forget it," I said with a wave of my hand, not wanting to hear any more of his excuses.

"What do you want then?" he asked, agitation creeping into his voice.

"What do I want?" I let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Luke, I want a divorce."

But he refused to agree to it. With reddened eyes, he asked me, "Cynthia, we've been together for ten years, and you're carrying our baby. Must you be this ruthless?"

He started recounting every moment from our college days until now, saying he just made a mistake and that I was the only one he'd ever loved.

He spoke with such emotion as if he were the one who'd been wronged.

I didn't say a word. Instead, I just waited for him to stop, then asked coldly, "Are you done?"

He stared at me, stunned.

"If you are, then leave. I'm tired."