On her birthday, Cecil Gilbert's childhood sweetheart posted to social media.

One like, and they'd hold hands.

Five likes, and they'd kiss.

Ten likes, and she'd sleep with him.

The photo was a man's silhouette showering behind frosted bathroom glass.

I knew that silhouette too well. I hit like, then left a comment:

【Congratulations. After sneaking around like a stray for so long, you've finally gotten your paws on those scraps.】

A few minutes later, my husband called.

"Doris Henson, what's that supposed to mean? Who's a stray? What scraps?"

……

Listening to Cecil sputter, I couldn't help finding it funny.

"Whoever's rattled is the one it fits. I didn't name anyone…"

He choked on his anger, his voice thick with displeasure.

"Doris! Delete that comment and apologize to Lillian Floyd! She's crying because you called her a stray!"

"I threw her a birthday party, and you made the birthday girl cry. Have I got no shame, is that it?"

If I hadn't commented, he'd have thought the whole thing was something to be proud of.

Now Lillian was crying, his heart ached for her, and he'd flipped the whole thing on its head and come demanding I apologize.

In his dreams.

"She's cheating and she posts the out-of-bounds photo on social media. What's that for, if not to get called out?"

Cecil drew a deep breath and explained, impatient.

"I was just at Lillian's birthday. They smeared cake all over me, so I had no choice but to shower!"

"As for the holding hands and the kissing she wrote, that was all a party game. There were plenty of people watching. What is there for you to worry about?"

"Delete the comment and apologize, now. You really don't mind embarrassing yourself, do you!"

I stayed quiet for two seconds. I didn't move.

Lillian deleted the comment herself, and her sobbing carried down the line.

"This is the saddest birthday I've had in my whole life. I don't want to live anymore…"

I acted as if I hadn't heard, and asked Cecil calmly:

"Do you want me to bring you a change of clothes?"

"No need, Lillian's got some here…"

He got halfway through before he realized how that sounded.

"I've got spare clothes in my car."

Except his car was the one I'd taken to the dealership this morning for a cleaning.

There were no spare clothes of his in it.

After I finished, I came home, and he'd gone down to the garage empty-handed and driven off to work.

I didn't call him out, and I didn't press about why Lillian's place had his clothes. I just felt utterly done with it.

I was about to hang up when Cecil suddenly shouted:

"Lillian, stop drinking! I'll have her come apologize to you right now!"

Then he turned cold and ordered me:

"Make some hangover soup and bring it over to apologize to Lillian. She's been chugging bottle after bottle and crying because of that comment of yours, two whole bottles."

I checked the time. Eleven at night. He wanted me to make hangover soup and then take a cab twenty kilometers out to the south side.

"Cecil, what exactly do you take me for?"

It came out of him without a thought.

"My wife! What else?"

"Once you've apologized, you can pick me up and take me home."

I refused, cold.

"I'm busy."

Too busy to make hangover soup for his childhood sweetheart. Too busy to go pick up a man whose eyes and heart were full of nothing but her.

Cecil froze for a beat, then raised his voice.

"You've got time to insult people but no time to come apologize? Fine. If you don't come, I'll sleep at Lillian's tonight and comfort her, and we'll call that your apology!!"

In the past, no matter how furious I was, I'd have gone cursing all the way to the south side to get him.

For one reason only: I was afraid he'd actually spend the night at Lillian's, that something would happen between them, and the marriage would be beyond saving.

But now, I couldn't wait for him not to come home.

That way I wouldn't have to drag myself back and forth, wouldn't be mocked as a shrew by his friends, and wouldn't have to breathe in the smell of liquor on him when he came back, wondering whether it carried a scent that shouldn't be there.

Or worse, marks on his body that had no business being there.

I'd had enough of living like this, jealous and suspicious over every little thing.

"Fine. Sleep wherever you want, comfort her however you want. That's your call."

Then I hung up.

Cecil called right back.

I didn't feel like dealing with it, so I let it ring.

A voice message came through a second later.

【Doris! Are you out of your mind? If I actually slept here, wouldn't you show up with a machete and hack me and Lillian to pieces?】

【You love checking up on me, don't you? Come see for yourself whether Lillian and I are innocent. Hurry up and make that hangover soup and bring it over. Everyone's waiting to be inspected by the lady of my house!】

His tone dripped with mockery, backed by the whooping of his friends.

Every one of those "big sister" toasts—how many were even sincere? I couldn't bring myself to care anymore.

I went into the study, drew up a divorce agreement, signed it, and then dropped straight into bed.

I'd barely fallen asleep when the home security camera picked up Cecil shouting.

"Doris, where are you? If you don't come apologize, I really won't come home!"

I could tell he'd had plenty to drink—otherwise he wouldn't have let that thrill slip so plainly into his voice.

I unplugged the camera so I wouldn't have to listen to him carry on.

Cecil came back the next morning.

He walked in carrying breakfast from that trendy place on the south side, calling me awake like nothing had happened.

I didn't touch my favorite crab cakes. I just handed him the divorce agreement.

"If there's nothing wrong with it, sign."

His hand froze mid-pour, milk hovering over the glass, and then he gave a helpless little laugh.

"I knew you'd pull this. How many times have we gone through the divorce thing now? Doris, do you actually find this fun?"

He set down the milk and told me to transfer twenty thousand to Lillian.

I stared at him.

"On what grounds?"

"You cursed her until she cried, and then you cost me a bet. She covered my stake, so now you owe her. Pay her back."

That was when I learned he'd bet everyone that I'd definitely bring Lillian a hangover soup to apologize and then drive him home.

But from the way he couldn't quite tamp down the corners of his mouth, I was sure of one thing: he'd already smoothed things over with Lillian.

And he wasn't the least bit upset about losing the bet.

If anything, staying the night at Lillian's had put him in an especially good mood.

"I can give her the money. But you sign the divorce papers."

I said it calmly.

The curve at Cecil's mouth vanished.

Seeing how flat my expression was, how flat my voice was, something in him turned irritable for no reason he could name.

He tossed the crab cakes into the trash.

Then he used my couple's payment account to send Lillian twenty thousand, and deleted her from his contacts.

But he refused to sign the divorce agreement.

"Doris, as long as you stop making a scene, I promise I'll cut off all contact with Lillian!"

The next second, two messages landed on my phone.

One was anonymous:

【Doris, if you've got money to burn, go donate it! Your husband transferred a hundred thousand to Lillian last night just to make her happy, and here you are handing over more! You're beyond hope!】

Attached was an intimate photo of the two of them locked in a deep kiss.

The other was from Lillian:

【Doris! Could you be any more childish? You think having money makes you something? You think money can make Cecil delete me? Let me tell you—delete me ten thousand times and Cecil will be on his knees begging me to add him back every single time!】

Attached was a photo of the two of them in bed.

So she'd assumed I was the one deleting her every time.

I pulled my eyes off the messages. I didn't ask Cecil where he got the nerve to use my money to soothe his childhood sweetheart.

Instead, I forwarded the photos to my lawyer for advice.

【Can this be used as evidence of the husband's infidelity to reduce his share of the assets?】

【Yes, it can!】

With that confirmation, I tore up the divorce agreement and printed a new one.

Cecil, though, assumed this was like every other time—that I'd throw a fit and then talk myself back around.

He followed me into the study looking rather pleased with himself and asked, in the most wounded tone,

"Sweetheart, why didn't you come pick me up last night?"

"Weren't you afraid something happened between me and Lillian?"

I handed him the new agreement.

"Whatever's between the two of you is none of my business anymore."

Cecil saw it at a glance—the asset split had gone from fifty-fifty to forty for him, sixty for me.

He looked at me, full of disappointment, then slammed the desk and roared,

"I only asked you to pay twenty thousand, and you're scheming for ten percent of my assets? You think I'm some sucker you can bleed dry?"

"I just don't get it—we had a good life, and you had to go and get petty and jealous over nothing!"

"Just because you wouldn't apologize, Lillian cried all night! I spent the whole night calming her down, came back to give you a way out, and you take a mile!"

"They were right about you. I really have spoiled you rotten! This is the last time I explain myself. I'm exhausted!"

Then he slammed the door and left.

He didn't know that I was the one who was truly exhausted.

I wouldn't chase after him this time, block his way, make him swear up and down that he'd keep his distance from Lillian.

An hour later, Cecil came back.

He stormed in, grabbed me, and started dragging me out.

"Doris! You're angry at me, so why did you have someone shove Lillian?"

"You're going to the hospital to make up for what you did!"

He hauled me to the hospital by force.

It wasn't until we were inside the blood donation room that I understood what "making up for it" meant—he wanted me to donate blood for Lillian.

I refused to cooperate, so he pinned me down and told the nurse to just draw it.

"Doris, this is what you owe Lillian! If anything happens to her because of you, you can sit and rot in prison!"

The bite of the needle hurt, but not as much as being held down, unable to move.

The last time he'd pinned me down like this, we'd been in a car accident.

The moment the danger came, he'd thrown himself over me without a second thought, shielding me with his own body.

Now he was holding me down to have my blood drawn—for his little childhood sweetheart.

I stopped struggling.

I'd just call it repaying him for saving my life back then.

As the blood bag filled, sharp waves of pain began rolling through my stomach.

The nurse noticed something was wrong with my face and moved to stop the draw, but Cecil snapped,

"Keep going!"

By the time two bags were full, I was seeing stars.

Cecil couldn't wait—he grabbed the blood bags and ran, leaving me to crumple to the floor, drained and doubled over with cramps.

Watching his back disappear as he ran, I laughed until tears came.

The nurse made me a cup of warm honey water and asked, worried,

"Ms. Henson, are you all right?"

I shook my head, took the cup, and drank it down in one go.

The warmth eased the cramping a little.

I thanked the nurse and left on my own.

To my surprise, Cecil—who was supposed to be taking care of Lillian—had gone home.

He dropped a chicken into the kitchen sink and looked at me, worn out.

"Doris, you saved Lillian, but you still have to apologize to her."

"Make a pot of chicken soup, and the two of us will take it to her together—"

"I did nothing wrong."

I cut him off, my voice cold.

"Even if you donated blood for Lillian, that doesn't cancel out the fact that you had someone shove her!"

Cecil looked at my pale face, sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work in the kitchen.

"I'll make the soup. In a bit, you're coming back to the hospital with me to apologize in person! I'm not carrying your burden for you anymore!"

He actually called a night of having fun with his childhood sweetheart "carrying my burden"?

Watching his busy figure at the counter, something in my nose stung without warning.