The Day the River Stopped Singing

"Jim, it's fantastic that you're coming home after all these years. As your uncle, I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

The middle-aged man's voice lifted with emotion on the other end of the line.

The moment the call ended, Holly Jones swung the door open, and with her entrance, the room filled with an unfamiliar masculine scent, a mix of tobacco and leather.

"Who were you talking to?"

Her question was more of a formality than genuine interest; her gaze was glued to her phone screen, not bothering to look up at me.

I was about to respond when Holly's phone interrupted us with its own ring. A man's voice, dripping with feigned frailty, came through, saying, "Ms. Jones, I owe you for the medicine you brought me. Without your help, my cold would've turned nasty. I don't know what I'd do without you!"

Holly, sensing something off, quickly lowered the volume.

I shut my mouth, bored with the whole charade, thinking, 'We're already heading for a divorce, aren't we?'

In silence, I tidied up a bit and warmed a cup of milk, sticking to my usual routine.

Once Holly wrapped up her call, she settled on the couch, thumbing through the finance section of the newspaper. Out of habit, her hand searched for the coffee I used to make for her. Not finding it, she finally shot me an impatient look.

"Are you still upset that I didn't rescue you from the elevator malfunction incident?

"Charles' cousin, the doctor, said your claustrophobia isn't that serious. Stop being so dramatic.

"And let's not forget: you were the one who wanted a divorce, and I agreed. So why the long face all the time?"

I remembered that night vividly. I was working late, trapped in an elevator when the power was out, my phone battery on its last leg. My claustrophobia surged, and shaking, I called Holly.

Her response? "Can't you sort it out yourself? I'm busy."

Then my phone went dead, and I almost did, too.

I later discovered that her assistant, Charles Shaw, had been on leave; she had granted his request for days. It dawned on me then that she had been out delivering cold medicine to Charles that night.

So, I asked for a divorce.

"Don't worry, once we're through with the divorce, you won't have to put up with me anymore."

I kept working, assuming Holly would be relieved, but to my surprise, she cranked up the volume. "Just make sure you don't regret this!"

When I stayed silent, buried in my work, Holly stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I could not be bothered to dissect her mood swings.

After wrapping up my tasks, I downed the last of my hot milk, took a soothing hot shower, and got ready for bed.

Out of the blue, Holly texted me.

[I'm plastered. Come and get me, and bring some yogurt.]

I did not want to, but then Holly texted again.

[We're not officially divorced yet. You still have husbandly duties to fulfill.]

Exhausted, I gathered my things and headed out.

Reaching the club's entrance, Holly and Charles' laughter echoed from inside.

It took me back to the night I suggested divorce, when a drunk Holly was asked by a friend, "Do you really want to divorce Jim?"

With a scoff, she replied, "He's just having a fit. His parents are gone. He wouldn't actually leave me.

"Plus, the court is making us wait before the divorce goes through. If Jim changes his mind, I'll graciously let it slide, and he'll crawl back."

She saw me as an orphan, not worth treating well, thinking that was why I could not leave her.