That One Cup of Coffee Ended My Marriage

I let out a sarcastic scoff and threw down the divorce papers I’d printed days ago.

“Sign it. Save the sob story for when I'm not around. I’m not interested.”

Alric froze. The moment his eyes landed on the papers, his face darkened—twice over.

“When did you even print this? Don’t tell me you had these ready the second Fina came back? You really couldn’t tolerate her for even a second?”

I glanced at the two of them who were still holding each other like nothing had happened.

I smiled bitterly. “No. It’s not me who couldn’t tolerate her. It’s you two who couldn’t tolerate me. Who am I to reject anyone when I was already being pushed out?”

I swept my gaze around the room, looking at every piece of furniture. “This house—everything in it is decorated to her taste. Why didn’t you just let her move in as the lady of the house?”

Smack!

The sound of Alric’s slap cracked through the room.

My face whipped to the side, stinging. His raised hand trembled in the air as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

I saw him looked stunned, more at himself than at me. In the next second, he pulled me into his arms in a panic.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it! I just—You said awful things, I lost my temper. You know I’d never hurt you on purpose.” He reached up, gently cupping my cheek, his voice soft, “Does it hurt?”

I held my swollen cheek and pushed him away firmly. “We're getting a divorce. That’s final.”

Then I turned and walked out the door.

Alric started to follow, but Seraphina quickly grabbed his arm. “Let her cool off. She’s just jealous right now. You chasing after her will only make things worse.”

Of course, Alric obeyed her.

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Of course he stayed. He truly didn’t understand, it seems.

When a woman finally calmed down, truly calmed down… it wasn’t forgiveness that came next. It was clarity.

And once clarity set in, my decision to leave only became more certain.

I wandered the streets for nearly half an hour before, I hailed a cab and returned home.

But I never made it inside.

Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw it: the perfect picture of domestic bliss. Alric, Seraphina and my son were sitting at the candlelit dining table, laughing like a real family.

They looked like a magazine ad for the perfect life.

To be fair, Alric did seem like the ideal husband to outsiders.

Ever since I married him, I never had to work a day. I could shop from home, indulge when I pleased. My parents and little brother moved into a mansion. They drove luxury cars with his name on the papers.

But there’s a wise saying: "marrying well is like swallowing a needle—the pain is silent and sharp and only the one who swallows it knows the sting."

In front of my mother-in-law, I would always act in such meticulous manner to look obedient and polite. At home, I was constantly on my feet, caring for our sickly child, barely getting a moment’s rest.

Those luxury clothes and handbags Alric bought me? I never even had a chance to wear them.

Just then, my mom picked up a phone call in the middle of dinner. Her eyes shot toward the window and when she saw me, she bolted outside.

She slapped me. Hard. My cheek flared with pain.

“Are you out of your mind?” she screamed. “You’re really divorcing a man like Alric? He’s a saint! I swear to God I’ll beat some sense into you!”

“It’s just a coffee! Just a damn cup of coffee! You want to divorce him over that?”

“He’s the one who makes the money, supports this whole family, takes care of your father and me! How can you be so ungrateful?”

My father came out right behind her, red-faced and fuming.

“Even if he bought that woman a house, a coffee—what’s it got to do with you? If you can’t hold on to your man, that’s your failure!”

“You should be grateful he’s still staying with you! You’re lucky to have him!”

Then my seventeen-year-old brother sneered. “Honestly, sis, you’re kind of a frumpy housewife now. If I were Alric, I couldn’t stand you either.”

There I stood, in my apron, the one I wore every day while cooking, cleaning, mothering—and yet my own family, the people I gave everything for, turned on me without hesitation.

They called me a burden. A disappointment. A woman who couldn't keep her man.

My heart went still in my chest.

“Alric called me just now. He's worried about you, asking if you’d come home!” My mother raised her hand again and slapped me one more time.

“You go meet your husband and apologize to him right this instance! Or don’t bother calling me 'mother' ever again!”