More Than A Gesture

I felt nothing as I watched Violet Miller toss the glass I had just touched straight into the trash.

“I’ve already disinfected the pen, Violet. You can sign the papers now.”

Violet walked right past me toward the study, as if she hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

She thought I was just being childish and chose to ignore it until it blew over.

This time, I meant it.

I stepped in front of her and blocked the doorway.

“Look, John… It was just a bowl of shrimp. I’ve already explained it to you.

“Daniel hurt his hand a couple of days ago, and the doctor said he shouldn’t get it wet—so I helped him, that’s all.

“Besides, I’ve got an important seminar coming up. I don’t have time to indulge in your silly tantrums.”

Still, I stood my ground, refusing to budge.

After a long pause, Violet let out a soft sigh.

“I promise I’ll be more careful next time, okay? Can you let it go now?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, someone scoffed outside the door.

It was Daniel Webster.

Even without seeing his face, I knew he was mocking me.

People like him—refined, cultured, above it all—always looked down on me, an outsider who used desperate tactics to cling to his wife.

For ten years, I had loved Violet with caution, afraid that one wrong move would make her despise me.

But today, her tone—pretending to compromise while accusing me of being unreasonable—only solidified the decision in my heart.

“Sign it,” I said firmly.

Violet pressed her lips into a tight line, her eyes burning with anger.

Just then, Daniel pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He tapped his watch and pointed at it.

“Apologies, Professor Miller,” Daniel said politely.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation with Mr. Sargent, but it’s nearly time. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Violet’s patience snapped the moment she heard him.

She snatched the agreement from my hands and tore it to pieces.

“Are you trying to humiliate me today? Move. Now.”

Then she shoved me.

I wasn’t expecting it, so my lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the doorknob, pain exploding through my body.

I let out a sharp hiss.

Violet’s expression changed when she saw my face turn pale. She instinctively stepped forward, as if to check on me.

But Daniel spoke again before she could act.

“Professor? The seminar coordinator just called again to ask when you’ll be arriving. We really can’t delay any longer.”

Then he turned to me, calm and composed.

“Mr. Sargent, if this is about what happened at lunch, I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.

“But Professor Miller really must leave now. I hope you understand.”

Violet froze in her tracks as the concern on her face vanished.

“That’s enough, John,” she said harshly.

“I don’t have time for this right now. Whatever it is, we’ll talk when I get home tonight.”

With that, she turned and walked away with Daniel, never once looking back.

I watched them leave, side by side, and all I felt was a hollow, aching coldness.

Because of her obsession with cleanliness, Violet and I had slept in separate rooms for all five years of our marriage.

Even touching her required that I disinfect my hands no less than three times—under her watchful eye.

Anything of hers I accidentally came into contact with, no matter how expensive, was always tossed into the trash without hesitation, just like tonight.

I loved her. So despite the loneliness and hurt, I’d respected her rules.

But love shouldn’t mean erasing yourself.