As soon as my husband sat at the dining table, he couldn't stop himself from talking.

The humiliations of my school days had become his favorite entertainment, served up to his drinking buddies like appetizers.

"Back then, she got her clothes torn off in the bathroom, beaten so badly she crawled on the ground like a dog, too terrified to make a sound. If it weren’t for my kindness—"

That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him I wanted a divorce.

He laughed it off, utterly unbothered. "Seriously? It’s just a joke! That was ages ago. You’re way too uptight—it’s just for a laugh, right?"

For a laugh? Was I the only one with a past? Did he think he was untouchable? Maybe I should tell a few embarrassing stories about his precious childhood sweetheart.

Fine. If it’s all about “fun,” I hoped his sweetheart found it equally hilarious when her turn came.

My husband, Zayn Garner, seemed to think our home was an open bar for his loud, obnoxious friends.

Every other day, they showed up, filling the house with lingering stares that left my skin crawling.

This time, I decided to put my foot down. “How about you take them out tonight? Go anywhere, spend as much as you want. I just—”

I didn’t even finish before Zayn’s expression soured. “What now? They’re just here to chat. Why do you always have to make things awkward? If I take them out, they’ll think we’re looking down on them or have some grudge.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “Chat? Is that what you call it? Bringing up my most humiliating moments, twisting them into jokes, and making everyone laugh at my expense? Have you ever once thought about how I feel?”

Before Zayn could answer, his mother, Lucy piped up from the kitchen, where she was chopping up vegetables. “Oh, stop being so dramatic! Can’t you take a joke? You’re lucky we don’t call you out for being so spineless!”

Her words hit me like a slap. My chest tightened, anger surging like a wave I couldn’t hold back. My mother-in-law, the jokester, was eager to humiliate me too.

Seeing how I was rooted in place and stunned into silence, Zayn led me into the kitchen. “Start cooking already. My friends will be here soon. We’ll deal with this later.”

I held back my rage and turned to the cutting board. Zayn’s laughter and rowdy banter filtered in from the other room, every word striking a nerve. My focus slipped, and the knife nicked my finger.

“Ouch!”

Drops of blood fell onto the chopping board. I frowned at the sting, only to notice the people at the dining table staring at me.

One man with a booming voice chuckled. “Zayn, your wife’s so sensitive! A little cut, and she’s already crying out? Bet she keeps you busy, huh?”

I froze as Zayn laughed along and effortlessly steered the conversation toward his favorite topic, mocking me.

“Ahh, you don’t know the half of it. She’s always been like this since she was a kid. No wonder people used her as a punching bag. Every time she got hit, she’d come crying to me. It was so annoying...”

Encouraged by the laughter, he grew more animated, casually stuffing food into his mouth as he continued.

“I don’t know if it’s because she’s too soft or just unlucky, but people always pinned her down and beat her up. She didn’t even fight back. Honestly, if I hadn’t known her since we were kids, I—”

He abruptly stopped, his voice trailing off as he noticed me standing beside him, holding the kitchen knife tightly.

The room plunged into silence. Zayn’s expression stiffened, a flicker of fear flashing across his face before he forced out a nervous laugh. “H-hey, what are you doing? It’s just a joke, okay? No need to get so serious.”

No need?

Using my painful childhood memories as a punchline, turning my trauma into his entertainment, and now I'm overreacting?

At that moment, I realized something. The people closest to you knew exactly where to stab, and they always went for the kill.

I tightened my grip on the knife, my knuckles turning pale. My body was trembling uncontrollably.

Under the stunned, breathless stares of everyone at the table, I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and spoke in a cold, even tone.

“Divorce or the knife. You choose.”

I never expected that the words I had spent so long preparing would result in an outburst of laughter, with a few people even slapping the table.

“Hey Evelyn, this is a bit much, don’t you think? We talk about everything here. I even joke about my wife being fat. What’s the big deal? Hahaha."

The laughter in the room kept rolling in, as if turning one's wife into a joke was something to be proud of.

I replied flatly, “What’s so impressive about mocking your wife? To be honest, it just shows how weak you are!”

As soon as I finished speaking, Zayn slammed his hand down on the table with a loud bang. He pointed a finger at me, his voice harsh. “Don’t go too far! So what if we talk about it? You can’t even handle your minor problems being mentioned? Let me tell you, all my friends know about that stuff!"

After venting, Zayn turned to comfort his friends, catching his breath. “Don’t mind her, she’s just being unreasonable…”

Then he glared at me and gestured for Lucy to take me back to my room.

Lucy pulled me along roughly. “Stop acting crazy, okay? Get back to your room.”

I raised the kitchen knife I was holding and pointed it at her. “I’m not going anywhere unless Zayn apologizes to me!”

Lucy froze, her face turning pale. She immediately let go of my arm and stepped back in a hurry.

The others, still drinking, turned to look at the now-silent Zayn.

“Just apologize, or she might actually do something crazy.”

“Didn’t you say she was timid? Looks like she’s not so meek now, huh? Hahaha.”

“Zayn, come on, just apologize…”

Everyone thought I was joking and didn’t take me seriously. They even treated me like the evening’s punchline.

In the midst of the noise, I slammed the knife down onto the dining table loudly, and several plates and utensils crashed to the floor.

Clang.

The room went completely still. Everyone held their breath, backing away from me as if I were a live wire.

My expression remained calm.

“Apologize.”

Seeing that I was serious, Zayn’s face immediately shifted to panic.

“Fine.

“I’m sorry.

“Is that good enough for you?”

As soon as Zayn apologized, the men in the room let out a collective sigh of relief. They grabbed their coats and stood up to leave.

“Uh… we’ve got some things to take care of at home. Let’s call it a night…”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do this another time.”

“Alright, we’re out.”

As the last of the guests left, Zayn’s anger returned, and he gave me a vicious look. “What’s wrong with you? Are you happy now that they’re gone? You’ve really embarrassed me.”

He glared at me again before turning around, slamming the door as he stormed off to his room.

Lucy, still shaken from earlier, looked around at the mess in the room. Her usual harsh tone was gone. “Let’s just clean this up, alright?”

I turned to her with a slight smile, pulled the knife out of the table, and handed it to her.

“You clean it up. I’m done.”

Leaving the mess behind, I grabbed my coat and walked out of the house.

Honestly, I hadn’t felt this light in a long time.

It was already past one in the morning. There were hardly any taxis on the street, and those that were there were all full.

I decided to walk home. It was only about a thirty-minute walk, and it wasn’t until I was halfway there that I realized leaving this house wasn’t as hard as I thought.

Halfway home, my phone buzzed. It's a notification from our old high school group chat.

"Selina is about to debut as a celebrity! Who would’ve thought our class would produce a star? It's such an honor! @Everyone."

My heart sank instantly. Memories from high school, the pain and humiliation, rushed back like a flood.

That's right. This was the same Selina Quentin who led others in bullying me relentlessly. She was the one who once beat me so badly I was barely clinging to life.

Selina was also none other than Zayn's childhood sweetheart, the girl he had always secretly adored. She was his first love.

I crouched on the sidewalk, trembling and staring at the endless stream of “Congratulations!” filling the chat.

Zayn had even posted a long, enthusiastic congratulatory message, far more passionate than anything he’d ever written for me. Every word was dripping with fondness, almost like a love letter.

It was painfully clear. Zayn was still obsessed with Selina.

How ironic. Just half an hour ago, he was yelling at me, and now he was reminiscing about the "good old days" with his childhood crush in the same group chat.

I absentmindedly rubbed the cut on my hand. The sting of the wound matched the ache in my chest.

I opened my chat with Zayn. I was ready to lay it all out and demand a divorce. But before I could type, a friend request from Selina popped up.

My vision blurred as panic set in. The air seemed to drain from my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath.

But after a few moments of mental preparation, I forced my trembling fingers to accept her request.

Her first message came almost immediately.

"Evelyn, it’s been so long! How have you been lately?"

I froze. I didn’t know how to respond. The unease and dread from all those years came flooding back.

Unable to face her, I chose to ignore her message and kept walking home.

But Selina wasn’t done. A second message followed. This time, she went straight to the point.

"I know I was really awful to you in high school. I was young and stupid. I’m so sorry for what I did to you.

"Can you forgive me? I’ve realized my mistakes. It’s been so many years. Can’t we just let it go?"

-

One after another, Selina sent over ten messages, apologizing profusely but laced with an undertone of pressure. It's almost as if it was my moral obligation to forgive her.

It felt like she was saying if I didn’t forgive her, then I was the one being petty, clinging to the past, and refusing to let her move on.

But only someone who had lived through that pain could understand how deep it ran. How could she waltz back years later and demand forgiveness as if it were her right?

With Zayn constantly dragging up my past to mock me, it was impossible to forget.

At that moment, I had a realization. Zayn had taken over where Selina left off, continuing to bully me in her place.

When Selina finally ran out of things to say, I responded with one brief message.

“Rotten apples stay rotten. They’ll never change.”

I then deleted her contact.

I knew exactly why she had reached out. She wasn’t looking for genuine forgiveness. She just wanted to clear her conscience before her debut. It was to protect her public image.

It wasn’t until five or six in the morning that Zayn finally realized I had actually left.

"Why are you being so petty? I made a few jokes, and you ran away?

"Leaving home over a joke, and even threatening me with a knife? Aren’t you worried people will laugh at you?"

I laughed bitterly to myself. Since Zayn loved jokes so much, I decided I’d play the biggest joke of all on him and his childhood sweetheart.