After my husband, Jonathan Beckett’s childhood sweetheart, Pauline Morris, returned to the country and discovered he already had a child with me, she created a storm. Not long after, drunk on a mountaintop, she slipped and fell to her death.

The news broke my husband. For three days and nights, Jonathan sat outside the morgue, refusing to return home.

Everyone whispered that he must hate me now—that sooner or later, he would demand a divorce.

After all, I was nothing but the compromise he had made under family pressure. The one he truly cherished, the one who had lived in his heart all along, was Pauline.

But instead of distancing himself, my husband changed.

My husband became gentle and attentive. He even handed me his entire paycheck without hesitation.

This was the same man who had always loathed hassle, yet to please me, he asked a friend to fly in an eel from Europe and raised it in a tank in our living room.

And then, during a family dinner with both sides gathered, I calmly dropped the news: I wanted a divorce.

The table fell into stunned silence. Even my mother scolded me, accusing me of not knowing how to count my blessings.

Jonathan’s eyes reddened as he clutched my wrist.

His voice broke. “What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

I pulled my hand free, meeting my husband’s gaze with calm finality.

“It’s because you’ve been doing everything so perfectly that I want a divorce,” I said.

——

“Angela, are you out of your mind?” Jonathan’s voice was hoarse and low, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip.

“Our son just turned one. You promised you’d be there to watch him grow up. Have you forgotten that already?”

The clatter of bowls and chopsticks filled the room.

My mother-in-law, Sandra Beckett, quickly set down her ladle, grabbed my hand, and pleaded through tears.

“Angela, hasn’t Jonathan been good enough to you lately? He gave you his whole paycheck, and comes straight home after work to care for the baby. You can’t make trouble like this.”

“Mother, I’m not making trouble. This marriage has to end," I said evenly.

When she saw the resolve in my eyes, her hand froze midair. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but no words came.

Jonathan’s eyes were rimmed in red, his throat working as he spoke. “Where did I go wrong? Angela, tell me. I’ll change. I knew you liked eel. So even though I hate the hassle, I asked a friend to ship one from Europe just for you. Isn’t that enough proof already?”

I looked up at the tank where the eel slid lazily through the water, my face expressionless.

“It’s not about you being bad. I just don’t want this anymore. Please sign the divorce papers.”

In the meantime, my mother slammed her palm against the table, rattling the porcelain bowls.

“Angela, are you out of your mind? Weren’t you the one who cried and begged to marry Jonathan, swearing you’d never marry anyone else? And now, after all this, you finally married him, you even have a child, and he changes diapers, makes bottles in the middle of the night, more attentive than you are as a mother, and you still want to leave?”

I avoided her gaze and turned back to Jonathan. “Just sign it. It’s better for both of us.”

“Sign it?” Jonathan let out a bitter laugh, though his eyes burned red. “Angela, look me in the eye and tell me if this is still about what happened a few days ago? Pauline is like a sister to me. Of course, I was devastated when she died, but I already explained that to you.”

His fingertip brushed the signature line on the divorce papers.

He then added, his voice tight, “Listen to me. I will never agree to a divorce. I know you’ve always resented my past with Pauline, but she’s gone now…”

He caught my shoulders, though his grip was light. “All I want now is a life with you and Ethan. I’ve put every bonus into Ethan’s account. I come home straight from work every day to help him. I even bought that eel just to make you smile. What more do you want from me?”

At the mention of the eel, my fingertips went cold.

Jonathan had hated trouble since he was a boy. He had never kept pets. I loved fish, but no matter how many times I asked him before, he always refused to let me keep any at home.

Yet three days ago, he suddenly had a friend fly one in from Europe, saying he wanted to bring some life into the living room.

The eel was always restless at night, far more than it should have been.

One evening, I got up for a glass of water and stopped short. Jonathan was standing in front of the tank, feeding it. His lips were moving, muttering words I couldn’t make out.

This man, who hated hassle more than anyone I knew—why would he drag himself out of bed in the middle of the night just to feed a fish? And what exactly was he whispering to it?

A chill crawled over my skin.

I shook it off and said flatly, “The eel is pretty, but I don’t like fish anymore.”

“You used to say you loved fish… that you loved water.” His voice caught, trembling with emotion, he was trying to hold back. “You said once our child grew older, we’d keep a whole tank. You said we’d take him to the aquarium often. Have you forgotten all that?”

“Things change.” I pushed the divorce papers toward him. “Sign them. Three days from now, we’ll meet at the court.”

“No! I won’t sign!” He clutched the papers so tightly that the veins in his arm stood out, his knuckles stark white. “Angela, is something weighing on you? Did I not do enough? Tell me, and I’ll change. I’ll change everything! Don’t joke about divorce. Ethan is still so little—can you really let him grow up without a father?”

His voice dropped lower and lower, laced with desperation, like a child terrified of being abandoned.

By then, the relatives around us could no longer hold back. One after another, they spoke, their voices overlapping as they tried to persuade me. Everyone had seen how attentive Jonathan had been over the past months.

When I was struggling with postpartum insomnia, he brewed calming tea for me every night. I once casually mentioned that I liked the pastries from the west side of the city, and he took the long way home for an entire month just to buy them. Even my own mother often said that the greatest fortune of my life was marrying Jonathan.

“Every couple fights,” one relative urged, leaning forward with earnest eyes. “Jonathan has already lowered himself this much—Angela, don’t be so stubborn. Ethan just learned to call him Daddy. Can you really let your child grow up without one?”

“Angela, what marriage doesn’t have quarrels?” another chimed in, her voice sharp with reproach. “He’s poured his heart out for you. Don’t be foolish.”

“Exactly!” someone else added, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look at his eyes, bloodshot from staying up late. He works all day, then comes home and still takes care of you and the baby. How can you bear to say divorce?”

Their voices tangled together, pushing down on me from all sides. I shook my head.

“No secrets. I simply want a divorce. I’m tired of this life.”

My father slammed his teacup onto the table so hard that tea spilled over the rim. “Angela, you explain this to me! What has Jonathan ever done to wrong you? During your confinement, he stayed up nights to take care of you. When you fell ill, he rushed you to the hospital in the middle of the night. And now you already have a child together, yet you say you’ll just leave? Can you face him? Can you face your child?”

I lifted my eyes toward Jonathan.

His bloodshot gaze brimmed with exhaustion and panic. “Dad, it’s because he’s been so good… that I have to leave.”

I ignored the confusion burning in everyone’s eyes and looked straight at Jonathan, expressionless. “Just take it as me being tired of you. Three days from now, we’ll meet at the court.”

With that, I rose, grabbed my coat, and walked out, my back pressed under the weight of silence and baffled stares.

That night, I had planned to stay at a guesthouse. But when I opened my phone to book a room, I realized my bank balance wasn’t even enough to cover one night.

Only then did it hit me. After getting married, I handed over my paycheck card and my bonus card—even the savings I had set aside before our wedding had been transferred into a joint account.

Jonathan had said, 'A family should keep money together. That way, it feels secure.'

Not long ago, when he offered me his salary card, I hadn’t taken it.

For the past year, I’d been a full-time mother. The only money I ever had in my hand was the allowance he gave me, never more than a couple of hundred dollars at most.

I once thought that was a symbol of trust. Only now do I realize I had turned myself into an appendage, surviving completely on Jonathan's support.

...

The next morning, I visited the baby supply shop I always frequented. Before my pregnancy, I worked there as a sales assistant.

Since then, nearly everything I purchased during and after my pregnancy came from that same store.

I had always gotten along well with the shop owner, Mrs. Jenkins. She’d told me more than once that if I ever wanted to come back, the job would be waiting.

I hadn’t even reached the counter when the sound of familiar voices drifted toward me. A few of my old coworkers were huddled together, talking in low tones. Their voices weren’t loud, but just enough for the words to slip through the air and find me.

“Have you heard? Angela’s insisting on divorcing her husband!”

The words hit me like a dropped plate shattering on tile. My hand, halfway to fastening on my name tag, froze. The sound of it felt like every head in the room had turned my way, though I knew they hadn’t.

“What? But her husband treats her so well,” one of them whispered back. “During her confinement, he came here every single day to buy baby supplies himself. He even remembered the exact diaper sizes. And now that the child just turned one, she’s asking for a divorce?”

They rattled off the details I knew all too well—little gestures lined up like medals on display, and I felt more exposed than I had any right to.

“I heard it’s because she can’t get over the fact that her husband once cared for that childhood sweetheart who passed away,” another added knowingly. “But look at him, he handed her his salary card, even raised the fish she likes, and I think it was flown in from overseas too. Isn’t that enough? She just doesn’t know how lucky she is.”

Those last words pricked at me as if they were a judgment I couldn’t argue with.

Lucky...

The word sat strangely on my tongue, like a label someone else had taped to my chest.

The moment I pushed open the door, their chatter cut off abruptly.

Several pairs of eyes turned toward me at once, sharp as needles, pricking against my skin.

A faint awkwardness crossed their faces, and the shop owner hurried out to smooth things over.

“Angela, you’re here?" Mrs. Jenkins' voice was hoarse, cautious as she approached. Come in, come in. We just happen to be short-staffed today.”

I let them perform their little charade of surprise. It was easier that way. I smiled at the owner, pulled my uniform over my head, and kept my breath steady while the room rearranged itself around me.

I had just changed into my uniform when I saw Jonathan at the entrance, holding Ethan in his arms.

Dark shadows ringed his eyes, proof of sleepless nights.

Ethan was wrapped snugly in his embrace, with his round eyes staring straight at me.

He looked exhausted in a way that made my chest ache. He stood there like he’d been waiting for me to decide something that would either save or break us.

“Angela.” His voice was hoarse, tentative, as he walked carefully toward me. “Come home with me, please? Ethan cried for you last night. He’s never spent a night without you.”

Hearing my name come out of his mouth like that touched a part of me I thought I’d protected. It briefly tugged at the part of me that remembers promises, lullabies, and the steady, boring comfort of shared mornings.

The clerks instantly perked up, their gazes darting between us, whispers bubbling to the surface again.

I could feel the shop leaning in like an audience waiting for the next scene. It made me want to be anything but the woman they were ready to pick apart.

“See? Didn’t I say her husband treats her well? Look how humble he is in front of her," my coworker murmured again.

I heard their commentary, the chorus of good intentions turning into a sermon I preferred not to attend.

The other one agreed. “Honestly, Angela really makes trouble for nothing. She has such a good life, yet she insists on a divorce. And the child is still so young.”

Still, I did not look at Jonathan.

Instead, I lowered my head and began arranging tins of formula on the shelf.

“I made myself clear yesterday, Jonathan," I replied. "Sign the divorce papers first, then we’ll talk.”

I said it the way you'd hand someone a train ticket—practical, not dramatic. The papers were a closed door I was offering him to walk through or slam.

His shoulders stiffened. He hugged Ethan tighter, then pulled a velvet box from his bag.

Opening it, a delicate glimmer of light spilled out.

He was trying to buy a smile the same way people buy roses—carefully, sincerely, and a bit silly. For a moment, I almost felt manipulated into feeling something I had already decided I couldn't feel.

“Angela, look. This is for you.”

I already knew what he hoped would work. It was written all over his jaw.

Inside was a silver necklace, the pendant a tiny fish-shaped locket.

“You once said you liked handmade silver jewelry. I asked an old craftsman to make this—it took him half a month. I even had Ethan’s name engraved on it. Try it on?”

A handcrafted apology. The artisans he found for me felt like apologies dressed up in pretty things.

Gasps of admiration rose around us.

They breathed for him, as if my acceptance would validate their belief in his efforts.

“Oh my gosh, that’s from Tiffany’s custom line, isn’t it? I heard you have to wait months for a piece like that.”

“Angela, your husband is so thoughtful. A man like this is rare to find. If you ask me, stop making trouble and go home to live well with him.”

I could hear myself being judged like a piece of furniture someone else felt entitled to. It made me laugh inwardly, a small private laugh, as if to say, I know what I am doing.

I glanced briefly at the necklace, then pushed the box back toward him.

My voice was steady as I said, “No need. I don’t like wearing jewelry.”

His hand froze in midair. Color drained from his face, and the light in his eyes faded slowly, like a broken lamp flickering out.

The gesture felt theatrical to me, but the hurt in his face was real. I did not want to hurt him more than I already had.

Sensing the tension, Ethan suddenly let out a wail in his arms, tiny fists clutching tightly at his father’s collar.

His cry tore through the smallness of the shop and made everyone breathe a little faster.

“What’s wrong with you, Angela?” one colleague blurted out. “Your husband’s done all this for you, and you still act so cold? Can’t you hear your child crying? Do you even care as a mother?”

All the old expectations—the checklist of motherhood, gratefulness, duty—flooded over me like a tide.

“Exactly. What man doesn’t make mistakes? And that childhood sweetheart of his is dead, anyway. He’s already humbled himself so much. You should know when enough is enough.”

The chorus pressed around me with the same familiar pressure I felt at family dinners, where loving someone the wrong way made you the enemy.

Jonathan quickly raised a hand to stop them. “It’s not her fault. It’s me. I haven’t done well enough.”

He took the blame as if it might hold together the pieces that were beginning to fall apart. It was a fragile thing to witness.

Then he turned to me, his voice hoarse and pleading. “Angela, if you don’t like the necklace, I’ll buy you something else. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just don’t divorce me. Please. Ethan can’t live without his mother, and I can’t live without you.”

He sounded like a man bargaining with the last of his dignity. For a moment, the old tenderness flickered, and I wondered if any of it had once been enough.