Chapter 2

I've been married to Selena for forty years. She's a university professor, earning a comfortable twelve thousand dollars a month with all her allowances, while my retirement pension brought in a mere three thousand dollars.

Each month, Selena would hand me three thousand dollars for our living expenses, telling me the rest of her income was being saved away for the future. "It's all in the bankbook," she'd say. "It's in the wardrobe."

But when I took that bankbook to the bank, the truth hit me like a slap in the face. There was only eight thousand dollars in the account. But several large withdrawals had been made to an unfamiliar account.

That account belonged to Ethan.

All these years, while I had been pinching pennies and playing the dutiful husband, she had been siphoning our joint funds to support Ethan, her so-called "spiritual pillar."

I hadn't wanted to make a scene. God knows I had tried to keep the peace. But her sheer audacity left me with no choice but to drop the pretense.

I printed out the bank statements and marched straight to a law firm. I needed a divorce agreement, and I needed it fast.

When I revealed my intent to divorce in my seventies, the lawyer gaped at me in shock. But then he simply nodded.

"If you're unhappy, Sir," he said, "it's best to cut your losses in time. No matter the age, if her heart isn't here, you should make a clean break."

I agreed wholeheartedly. Within hours, the papers were drafted, and I sent the divorce agreement straight to Selena's hospital room.

It didn't take long for her to call. The moment I answered, her voice erupted. "Jacob, what is the meaning of this? Just because I got a little wet and sick, you want a divorce? Is that it? You don't want to take care of me anymore? Let me tell you, if you don't want to take care of me, then never come back!"

I indeed wouldn't be coming back, I said calmly, "Selena, sign the divorce agreement as soon as possible."

I inhaled deeply as I ended the call. Selena likely believed I was just stirring up trouble once more. Throughout the years, Ethan had been the spark for numerous disputes between us.

Over the years, she had accused me of being petty, of lacking grace.

"Ethan lives alone," she yelled. "We've been friends for years. What's wrong with looking after him? You've been in your ivory tower too long, so you don't understand the hardships of life."

I had mocked her, "If you care so much, why marry me?"

She had gone wild, accusing me of jealousy. I seemed to strike a nerve because, after that argument, she didn't come home for a week.

Later, I found out why. A post on Ethan's Facebook showed them together in Rainmith, strolling through gardens and listening to the rain. Immersed in their little world of classical beauty, they were carefree and oblivious to the pain they caused.

Netizens had commented enviously, saying how lucky Ethan was to have such a "supportive partner." Some even mistook them for a couple.

But Ethan didn't deny it.

When I saw that, I said nothing, but I came home and tore up all of Selena's manuscripts in a blind rage.

I had gone mad, fighting with her until my voice was hoarse. But she met me with cold indifference as if my pain meant nothing.

Even our daughter, Cecil, took her side, berating me and calling me hysterical.

You're unworthy of being the husband of my mother, she had yelled.

They had forced this role upon me. Who made the rule that a professor's spouse had to be all polished and genteel?

I was a person with my own spectrum of feelings and needs, yet I couldn't juggle affections like Selena did, with one love indoors and another out.

If she couldn't move on from Ethan, why then did she decide to tie her life with mine?

Selena thought I was deliberately making things difficult for her, testing her limits to see if she'd break. But she didn't expect what came next.

After that call, I never visited her in the hospital again, leaving her unattended.

However, Ethan was diligent, of course. He visited Selena whenever he could. Still, there was only so much one person could do. He couldn't be everywhere at once.

Before long, Selena couldn't hold on anymore, so she was compelled to check out of the hospital.

When she got home, she found I wasn't there. My luggage was gone.

Seeing that, Selena finally realized I was serious.

A week passed before Cecil called me.

"Dad," she said, "Mom's out of the hospital."

I argued, "If she's out, then take good care of her. No need to call me."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line before Cecil stammered, "Dad, Mom's not well yet. You're really not coming to see her? What are you really upset about?"