On my twenty-ninth birthday, my husband, who was supposed to be celebrating with me, never showed up. Instead, his assistant posted on her social media story, with the privacy set so only I could see it. It was a picture of two hands, clasped together, both covered in a thick, creamy foam. The caption read: Oops, wrong post. Guess the boss will have to punish me now... I wasn’t surprised. I just calmly liked the post. After all, this was the third time he had cheated on me. … I turned off my phone. My heart was numb, but a deep chill had settled into my body, a cold that urged me to find a source of warmth. I drove home. To my parents’ house. When I reached the front door, I raised my hand to knock, but it felt shackled by an invisible cord, unable to move. I stood there for several minutes, frozen on the welcome mat. Muffled voices drifted from inside. My brother, Sebastian. “Mom, Dad, isn’t it Audrey’s birthday today?” My mother paused. “Your birthday is tomorrow, so… oh, I guess it is hers today.” “Should we give her a call?” She scoffed. “Call her for what? We’ll just celebrate hers with yours tomorrow. It’s what we do every year. She’s used to it.” My father chimed in. “Besides, Paul is probably with her.” My mother’s voice suddenly sharpened, rising in pitch. “With her? Don’t be ridiculous. Paul’s on a business trip. That’s just an excuse, if you ask me. He probably can’t stand the sight of her. She walks around with that long face all day, like the world owes her a million dollars. Whose fault is it that she can’t keep a man’s heart? “And besides, Paul’s a big shot now. What successful man doesn’t have a little fun on the side? She’s making a mountain out of a molehill. He didn’t abandon her after he made it big; he promised she’d always be the lady of the house. That’s more than most get. Can’t she just turn a blind eye? Her constant nagging… who could stand it?” My father and brother murmured their agreement, and the conversation shifted. Laughter soon filled the house again. But for me, standing outside, the world grew colder and colder, until my teeth began to chatter. Two years ago, I walked in on Paul cheating for the first time. The world went cold, and I managed only one word: “Divorce.” When you truly love someone, there’s no room for a single grain of sand in your eye. It didn’t matter that he knelt in the pouring rain all night. It didn’t matter that he claimed he’d been drugged, set up. I cried for an entire night, but I refused to forgive him. That was when my mother slapped me. Hard. She pointed a finger in my face, her voice shaking with rage. “You were the one who insisted on marrying him! Now you want to throw it all away? Do you want to bring shame on this entire family?” Seeing the disbelief on my face, she softened her tone, trying a different tactic. “Paul was tricked by that slut. Just give him another chance. Don’t take it so far.” For a month, Paul came every day, begging, apologizing. I finally relented. But I couldn’t share a bed with him. I couldn’t get past the betrayal. When he saw me, a walking skeleton who had wasted away in just a few weeks, he broke down in tears. He wrote me letters of guarantee, sent me his itinerary every single day, and cared for my every need. But less than six months later, I found him with his secretary. He said he was drunk. He said he thought she was me. I just stared at him in silence, until he exploded in a fit of shame and anger, slamming the door on his way out. This time, Paul didn’t beg for forgiveness. He went straight to my parents, confident they would fight his battles for him. And they did. My mother blamed me, saying I had given him the cold shoulder for half a year, leaving him with nowhere to turn. My father threatened to disown me if I filed for divorce. My brother reminded me that Paul had funded his startup company, and told me to stop being selfish and think about the family. They screamed at me at home. They made scenes at my office. Finally, when I wouldn't break, my mother took a bottle of pills and was rushed to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. She cried, snot and tears streaming down her face. “Audrey, if you still consider me your mother, you will not mention divorce! Our family depends on him! Everyone knows I have a golden son-in-law. If you divorce him, how will people laugh at us? You can’t be so selfish!” Paul’s circle of friends, the same men who used to respectfully call me their sister-in-law, now offered their own brand of condescending advice. “Come on, Audrey. What man at Paul’s level doesn’t have a few beautiful distractions on the side?” “All you have to do is be the rich wife and spend his money. No one can ever take your place. Honestly, he’s been more than good to you.” “If you won’t think of yourself, at least think of your leech-like family, right?” Paul didn’t have to say a thing. Everyone else had said it for him. I gave in again. This time, my relationship with Paul froze over completely. I treated him like air. After a few failed attempts to get my attention, he started coming home later and later. I don’t know how I survived that period. My mind felt like it was filled with paste, and a thick glass dome separated me from the world. I couldn’t feel a thing. The third time Paul cheated, he brought his assistant home. They had just finished, right there on our sofa. A bright red lipstick mark stained the open collar of his shirt. “Why?” I asked him, my voice hollow. “Why won’t you just let me go?” He lit a cigarette, his features blurring behind the smoke. He sighed, a sound of weary resignation. “Audrey, we’re too old for fairy tales. Even if I agreed to a divorce, your parents never would. I’m doing this for your own good.” He took a long drag. “They say the first thing a blind man does when he can see again is throw away his cane. I didn’t. Even when I no longer needed you, I promised to keep you safe. So you can continue to be the wealthy Mrs. Thorne. If we don’t have love, we still have family.” I actually laughed. A dry, rasping sound. “So you finally admit it? You don’t love me anymore.” Paul watched me for a long moment, a playful, cruel curve to his lips. “Yes. I have to admit, even the deepest feelings fade with time. Now, when I see you cry, I don’t feel anything at all. Just… annoyance.” What comes after your heart has turned to ash? I didn’t know. After I left that place we once called home, I ran into a drunk, leering at me on the street. He chuckled, stumbling closer. “Hey, gorgeous. Where you headed? Let your big brother give you a ride.” His hand reached for me. My eyes, unfocused, stared right through him. A dark, unstoppable wave of destruction crested within me. Go to hell. Go to hell, all of you! What’s the point of living? Then let’s all just die!
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