On the day of the piano concert, my wife sat in the audience with the new intern from the orchestra, clutching the VIP ticket I had given her. She had told me she was catching a flight out of town to gather inspiration and wouldn't be back in time for my performance. From the stage, I could see Eliza, but she was focused on the intern rather than the performer, who was obviously me. Even though there was no crowd blocking her view, she seemed unaware. Seeing her joy, I suddenly understood her words from earlier that morning: "As much as I love turkey, sometimes you crave a burger."

Three days after the concert, I bumped into Eliza outside our apartment building. She stood bashfully beside a gleaming motorcycle, with the orchestra's intern, Quinn, at her side. Normally aloof around strangers, she allowed Quinn to cup her face in his hands. Eliza even rose on her tiptoes to give him a brief, almost invisible kiss on the lips. Then, like a young woman head-over-heels in love, she turned back with a coy smile and reluctantly headed upstairs. Snow began to fall suddenly. I remained there for several minutes, letting the snowflakes sting my skin until the cold air numbed my nose and snapped me back to reality. As soon as I opened the door, Eliza hurried over to help me remove my coat, brushing off the snow with feigned irritation.

"You're covered in snow and didn't bother to clean it off," she admonished.

I opened my mouth to protest but couldn't find the words. I closed it again, unsure of what to say. How could she act so unfazed in front of me after flirting with someone else? It was as though what I'd witnessed earlier was nothing more than a mirage. Eliza pressed her palm against my forehead, checking my temperature over and over.

"You don’t have a fever, so why are you so quiet?"

I crouched to take off my shoes, avoiding Eliza’s touch. She didn't linger on it, curling back up on the couch to tinker with her phone. I quietly approached her and saw she was texting someone nicknamed "Little Goofball." I let out a soundless laugh and stood behind her, asking, "How was your trip?"

Eliza flinched but quickly switched the screen, leaning back against the sofa to look at me. Without hesitation, she replied, "Not great. The scenery wasn't as stunning as I hoped."

Her answer was so polished that both her expression and tone were impeccable. Had I not seen it all firsthand, I would have swallowed her lie completely. Not wanting to dwell on the topic, Eliza tugged at my hand playfully to change the subject.

"Sweetheart, I’m really craving some glazed spare ribs. Could you make them for me, please?"

I didn't confront Eliza about the excuses she made to avoid my questions. Instead, I walked over to the fridge without any emotion and pulled out two packs of instant ravioli, holding them up. "I don't feel like cooking tonight. How about we just have these?"

The smile on Eliza's face disappeared immediately. She grabbed the ravioli from me and crushed them, the sound of crumpling plastic filling the room.

Her expression turned sour. "Thomas, am I to take this as you giving me an attitude?"

I met her gaze steadily. Eliza's brow furrowed, and she stared at me with the intensity of someone gearing up for a fight. But I was just too tired and didn't feel like cooking dinner.

Was Eliza really so impatient now that even my reluctance to cook was enough to set her off?

When I didn't answer right away, Eliza exhaled deeply and placed the crushed ravioli back on the counter. "You've changed. You never used to let these little things bother you. I shouldn't have missed the concert, but I have my own life too. I can't always be by your side."

"You're such a disappointment, Thomas. I'm going out for dinner; you stay here and think things over."

Without waiting for a response, Eliza went to the bedroom, changed into a figure-hugging Victorian-style dress, grabbed her coat, and headed out. After getting ready, she picked up her phone and sent a voice message to someone, "Come pick me up."

As she turned the doorknob, instinct kicked in, and I opened the drawer of the shoe cabinet. "It's chilly out, take a hand warmer with you."

Regret washed over me the moment I offered, but thankfully, Eliza shook her head. "No, keep it for yourself."

She didn't even look at my outstretched hand, heading out the door without hesitation.

She was always so sensitive to the cold. Even the slightest chill would make her cuddle up to me, giggling as she slipped her hands under my collar for warmth. I couldn't stand to see her cold and always gave in to her demands.

In winter, I made sure to have hand warmers ready, or stocked at home, to give her when I couldn't be there with her outside. Seven years without fail.

Even now, after discovering her affair and feeling utterly heartbroken, my instinct was still to care for her.

Yet now, she says she doesn't need me anymore.