Not the Right Fit
The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife.
Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie."
On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down.
I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce.
Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."