The Sleeping Beauty Was Just His Stand-In So I Let Her Go

On my mother's birthday, I couldn't reach my wife, no matter how many times I called.

Resigned, I took my mother to a popular sushi restaurant. The moment we stepped inside, a roar of cheers hit us like a wall. Men crowded the central counter, necks craning, eyes locked on something at the center of the room.

They weren't looking at sashimi.

They were devouring the woman beneath it.

Our relatives, who had joined us for the celebration, pushed through the crowd to see what the commotion was about. My uncle's voice cut through the noise—a furious bellow aimed directly at me.