Love Was a Dream, Now It’s Dead

During dinner, Adrian's childhood sweetheart, Clara Bennett, sat with red-rimmed eyes, staring at a half-eaten rice bowl. Noticing her distress, Adrian, the perfectionist with OCD, gently reassured her, "Come on, Sniffles, haven't I always finished your leftovers?"

I handed him the sterilized chopsticks, as I always did, but he snapped at me this time. "Emily, did you even bother disinfecting your hands before touching the chopsticks? Stop grossing me out."

After the meal, he used the tie I had made for him to wipe Clara's mouth. Normally, I'd have caused a scene and made everyone uncomfortable. But this time, I couldn't bring myself to care. Eight years of marriage, and it all felt so utterly meaningless.