As I watched them disappear together, leaning closely, I felt a wry sense of clarity. Perhaps my earlier words were misplaced, Konstantinos didn’t have to spend his anniversary with his wife. His youthful, attractive assistant seemed to suit him just fine.

I sat through the rest of the show on my own, then returned to the hotel, freshened up and quietly changed my flight. He never returned that night.

The next morning, right as I was about to board, he called. I silenced the phone and turned it off without hesitation.

After landing, I found a flood of messages from him, all asking why I’d left without notice. Not one, however, explained why he hadn’t come back.

I left his messages unanswered.

Once home, the first thing I did was draft a divorce agreement. Yet, deep down, I knew this divorce wouldn’t be simple.

Konstantinos and I had spent seven years together before marriage. In those years, I’d been by his side through thick and thin, enduring hardships, sharing stale bread and even sleeping in cars.

To buy him a decent suit, I lived on pickled vegetables for an entire month.

Once, I even came close to being assaulted by a boss at a part-time job.

Perhaps because of these struggles, Konstantinos was always compassionate toward young employees finding their footing.

Fortunately, the hardships proved worthwhile.

With the rise of new media, we rode the wave and within a year, our assets soared to nearly ten million.

When the company was officially established, Konstantinos proposed, slipping a diamond ring onto my finger and promising to love me forever.

As a gesture of sincerity, he even transferred most of the shares to my name as pre-marital property, despite my decision to step back.

When did I first start feeling that something wasn’t right with him?

It was about ten days ago.

A longtime company employee had offhandedly mentioned that Konstantinos had brought on a new assistant, a woman who’d been around for two months already.

They said she was fair-skinned, beautiful, a campus beauty from a humble background.

A wave of discomfort washed over me, so I waited for him to return that evening, ready to ask why he hadn’t told me about her sooner.

He had indulged in a few drinks that night, his brow furrowing as he yanked off his tie. “What’s the fuss about changing an assistant? She’s clumsy and timid, always shedding tears over the slightest mishaps.”

He added, “If President Quinlan hadn’t insisted on pushing her into my company, I would have never hired someone so inept.”

Konstantinos was typically precise with his words, so his unexpected agitation left me feeling uneasy.

I helped him hang up his clothes and gently inquired, “So, does President Quinlan have a special connection with this assistant?”

In a sudden burst of anger, Konstantinos snatched the towel from my hands. “Iris, why are you acting like a gossiping housewife, filling your head with such nonsense?”

He shot me a look of disdain before storming into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

I stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

My instincts whispered to me that our marriage might be approaching its end. Three days later, Konstantinos returned from his trip, but he didn’t come home.

Instead, he sent Calliope to retrieve some fresh clothes for him. I handed her the packed suitcase, feeling a weight settle in my chest.

She flashed a smug smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Mr. Fowler while he rests at my place.”

She dragged the suitcase behind her, then paused to glance back. “Oh and Mr. Fowler mentioned he loves your squirrel fish. Could you be so kind as to send me the recipe?”

Her eyes gleamed with delight as she savored the anger she hoped to provoke within me.

In the past, such provocation would have ignited a fire in me, compelling me to teach her a lesson in decorum.

But now, I felt nothing but indifference.

Lifting the corner of my mouth in a slight smile, I retrieved my phone and added her as a contact.

Calliope appeared taken aback by my lack of reaction, glancing back at me twice as she made her way out.

Once she left, I realized I had forgotten to hand her the divorce papers, prompting me to decide to deliver them myself.

As I entered the company, Konstantinos’s other assistant, Aphrodite, hurried toward me, her face lit with surprise. “Mrs. Fowler, what a pleasant surprise! What brings you here? Mr. Fowler isn’t in right now.”

“Where’s Calliope?” I inquired.

She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, before adding, “She’s not here either.”

I responded with a soft smile. “That’s perfectly fine. I simply came to drop something off for Mr. Fowler.”

Stepping into Konstantinos’s office, I was immediately taken aback by the dramatic makeover.

His desk was a colorful medley of playful figurines and vibrant succulents, while a pair of whimsical cartoon couple mugs adorned the coffee table.

Even the cushions on the sofa had been replaced with cheerful pink fabric, exuding a sense of joy and lightheartedness.

It was clear that Calliope had left her charming stamp on this space.

The decor struck me as tacky, yet it boldly asserted her presence.

Aphrodite seemed embarrassed. “Mrs. Fowler, this…”

I cast a glance around the office. “Sometimes, a shift in taste can be quite refreshing.”

I settled into Konstantinos’s chair and input the combination for the safe.

Fortunately, it opened with ease.

I tucked the divorce papers inside and requested that Aphrodite remind Konstantinos to review them.

After that, I made my way out of the company.

Once I aimlessly roamed for a while, I returned home and noticed Calliope had shared a new update on social media.

The photo depicted a squirrel fish, poorly plated yet brimming with character, accompanied by a caption that read, [First time making it, almost burned it, but luckily the boss didn’t mind and devoured it all!]

[Thank you to my beloved boss for his patience with a crybaby like me!]

The filter on the photo was artfully applied.

Konstantinos liked the post and I quietly followed suit, tapping my thumb on the screen.

With a gentle hand on my stomach, I set my phone to silent, unaware of when sleep took hold of me.

Suddenly, I was jolted awake by the violent sound of the door slamming open and shut.

As I blinked into consciousness, I saw Konstantinos burst in, soaked to the skin, still wearing his slippers.

I glanced out the window; the moon cast a bright glow, the stars were sparse and the ground was dry.

Confusion washed over me as I wondered why he was drenched.

Before I could process the whirlwind of emotions, he seized my shoulders and shook me with urgency. “Iris, how could you be so cruel? I was away for days, longing for just a taste of your squirrel fish. But you wouldn’t make it, so she stepped in!”

“She can’t cook at all! She fumbled through making me a plate and burned herself in the process!”

“So, you’re just jealous? You pretended to teach her how to cook and added her on WhatsApp to spy on her, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean by liking her post? You might as well be calling her a mistress!”

“She’s just a naive girl, so sensitive that you might push her to the brink!”

“If I hadn’t intervened, someone could have met a tragic fate today!”

So, he had gotten drenched because he rushed to save Calliope.

The rapid-fire accusations swirled around me, making my head spin.

Suddenly feeling lightheaded, I dashed to the bathroom and heaved.

I clung to the toilet, retching for what felt like an eternity, not stopping until dry heaves wracked my body and I collapsed onto the floor.

Leaning against the door, Konstantinos watched, a statue of disapproval, as he tossed me a towel with a look of disgust. “How old are you? Still, pretending to be sick like a child to dodge adult responsibilities? Iris, you’re sinking lower and lower.”

I wiped my face with the towel, brushing away the tears that had spilled from my heaves.

As I did, my gaze fell upon the scar on my hand.

My culinary skills hadn’t been entirely self-taught.

That scar was a remnant of my attempts at making squirrel fish, during which Konstantinos had been so distressed he almost shed tears.

He used to apply burn ointment for me each day, forbidding me from getting it wet.

But now, like my scars, his memories had all healed.

I rose to rinse my mouth, my voice hoarse as I asked, “Konstantinos, when did I stop making you meals? Isn’t it because you refuse to come home?”

We had journeyed through a decade together and we had certainly faced our share of arguments.

Yet, each time, he would arrive with gifts, seeking to make amends.

I would prepare a plate of squirrel fish and over dinner, we would reconcile as if nothing had ever happened.

But today, he persisted, unyielding.

“Iris, if you had just softened up sooner, how could I not come home?”

“Now, put on some clothes and come with me to the hospital.”

“To apologize to Calliope and you won’t stop until she forgives you.”

I tightened my grip on the towel, countering, “What if I choose not to go? Konstantinos, you’re my husband. You’re dining on meals made by another woman, flaunting it on social media and now, because I liked a post, you want me to apologize to her?”

“If I apologize, what exactly should I say? Come on, Konstantinos, why don’t you teach me?”

He was momentarily rendered speechless.

Posting on social media was intended to be seen and liked, wasn’t it?

What could he possibly say that would make my apology acceptable?

Observing his conflicted expression, I gagged again.

His cold voice broke the silence once more, “Iris, is this never-ending with you?”

Hearing the contempt laced in his tone and witnessing his disdainful expression ignited my anger.

I swung my hand and delivered a sharp slap. “Konstantinos, get out!”