Dumping My Wife Because of Her Golden Retriever

It was only then that I remembered—I had transferred all of my savings into Hazel’s account when we got married. I told her I wanted to give her a sense of security.

Over the years, I worked day and night, handing over every cent I earned without fail. I never carried more than five hundred dollars in my own pocket.

Back then, I truly loved her.

So why am I so determined to divorce her now?

Probably only three people in the world know the answer to that.

The next morning, I went to the art studio where I teach.

Before I even walked in, I heard my students gossiping about me from inside.

"Mr. Henderson is really heartless, huh? Ms. Olson is like a fairy—so beautiful, so gentle—and she does his laundry and cooking too. What more could he possibly want?"

"Exactly! She’s even terrified of dogs, but she still adopted one just because he likes them. Isn’t that enough proof of love?"

"He’s just spoiled now. Back then, he chased her like a dog. Now that he’s got her, he throws her away!"

I pushed the door open. The students instantly fell silent. No one dared speak further, but their eyes spoke volumes—like they were staring at something filthy and disgusting.

I didn’t bother explaining.

Then I heard Hazel’s voice behind me.

“Alright, everyone, back to your paintings. Mr. Henderson is a good person—it’s me who wasn’t good enough.”

I turned. As expected, she had brought the golden retriever with her.

The students reluctantly dispersed, and the only sound left was the soft brushing of paint against canvas.

“Austin.” She walked up to me with a gentle smile on her face. “As long as you stop talking about divorce, I’ll pretend nothing happened yesterday. Come home early, okay? Lucky and I miss you.”

I stared at her without any expression.

“Is it because I didn’t care for you enough before?” she asked softly. “I’ve changed. Look what I got you.”

She pulled out an elegant wooden box from her bag. “It’s the wolf-hair brush you mentioned liking the other day. I had someone bring it back from Brooklyn. Try it—see if it feels right in your hand.”

One student gasped, “Oh my god, isn’t that handmade by a national heritage master? I heard it’s impossible to get, no matter how much you’re willing to pay!”

“Ms. Olson, you’re way too good to Mr. Henderson. If my future girlfriend is even half as thoughtful as you, I’d count myself lucky.”

“Come on, Mr. Henderson, she’s practically perfect. What else could you possibly want? Be careful or you’ll end up in the classic ‘begging-for-your-wife-back’ cliché.”

I ignored their teasing.

Then, without a word, I took the precious calligraphy brush and tossed it into the trash.

“If it’s a gift for me, then I have the right to throw it away. You’re okay with that, aren’t you?”

Hazel’s eyes instantly turned red. She bit her lip hard, unable to speak through the wave of hurt.

The studio erupted in outrage.

“Are you even human? She gives you her heart and soul and you just stomp on it like that?”

“Anyone who thought you two were some kind of fairytale couple must’ve been blind. You’re not even worthy of her!”

I tuned them all out.

Without another glance, I simply told Hazel to sign the divorce papers as soon as possible, then packed up my art supplies and left.

Her tearful voice echoed behind me.

“Austin! What do you want me to do?! What will it take for you to forgive me? For you to stay?!”

I didn’t look back.

For the next three days, I ignored all her calls and messages.

On the fourth day, my mother called, her tone anxious and sharp. “You little brat, where the hell have you been?! Did you know that Hazel went all the way to Santa Monica Mountain to pray for your forgiveness? She passed out halfway up the trail. Get your ass to the hospital now!”

When I arrived, Leonel—her older brother—was by her bedside. The moment he saw me, he lashed out.

“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here! She climbed that mountain at dawn just to pray for your safety, hiked for six straight hours, and only just regained consciousness!”