Allergic to My Wife

Debbie Ford watched the letter slowly burn down to embers.

Ignoring the danger, she grabbed a coat to beat at the flames until they died.

In front of thousands of livestream viewers, she teared up and shoved me onto the white rose petals-covered sofa.

“Charles, what on earth are you doing? Are you toying with me?”

Her manager, Ken Zimmerman, shut the livestream off in a panic.

I said nothing.

She stood so close that I could smell the lingering cologne on her clothes. It was the same one George Brookes always wore.

I suddenly remembered the time when she was still working as an extra on movie sets after we finished college. She had held my hand and told me very seriously, “Charles, when I win the Best Actress award, I’ll marry you, and we’ll have the grandest wedding ever.”

When she actually did win the Best Actress award, she changed the deal.

She told me to propose to her publicly during livestreams, and only after I had proposed to her a hundred times would she give up her glamorous image and announce our relationship.

Every time I acted like a fool online for her sake, she was always somewhere else.

She would appear at luxury hotels around the world with all sorts of pretty boys or spend nights on yachts.

She even ran off to get married and then divorced immediately in Ghono, just to “experience the local marriage culture.”

Something I longed for seemed to be so easily attainable by others.

The thought pulled a bitter smile across my face.

“Debbie, there will not be a 101st proposal. I’m tired. We’re done.”

She stared at me for two seconds in stunned silence.

Then, she laughed in apparent realization.

“So, because I didn’t show up for your hundredth proposal, you just burned all the love letters in spite?

“You embarrassed me in front of so many people. As my fiance, did you ever think about how I would feel?”

I could not understand. Was that not the freedom she had always wanted?

Why did she not seem the slightest bit relieved?

If she had spoken to me like that in the past, I would have humbled myself and begged her for forgiveness.

But my heart had long shattered beyond repair. All I felt was numbness, and I said nothing.

More importantly, I did not want to waste whatever time I had left on her.

“The hundredth proposal has ended. So have we.”

Debbie’s expression seemed to relax when she heard me say those words. She seemed to believe I couldn’t bear to leave her.

“Don’t be dramatic, Charles. We’ve been together for seven years, and you think you can just walk away like that? Don’t worry. When you propose for the one-hundred-and-first time, I’ll say yes. You’ll get to salvage your dignity.”

I remained silent. I slipped off the ring she had handmade for me and tossed it into the trash, right in front of her.

Then, I turned and left.

Ken hesitated. “Debbie, he’s not serious, right?”

She glanced at my back and spoke with certainty.

“In three days, he’ll come back crying and begging me to marry him.”