The Secret Inside the Sofa
Ever since my wife had that oversized custom sofa delivered, she'd been sleeping in the living room every night.
Whenever I tried to bring her back to the bedroom, she brushed me off with the same excuse—she was tired.
Sometimes, she even locked the bedroom door from the outside. I would hear muffled, muffled sounds coming from the living room late into the night. The door wouldn't open again until the next morning.
I couldn't take it anymore.
The day she gave birth, she had just been wheeled out of the delivery room, still lying on the hospital bed, too weak to even sit up. I refused to hold the baby. Instead, I told her I wanted a divorce.
Her eyes turned red as she stared at me. "Just because I've been sleeping on the couch every night, you're divorcing me, right after I give birth to our child?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Yeah."