4
When I got the call about Oliver getting into a fight, I was taking out the last bag of trash.
All our photos together? Gone.
The matching outfits I once begged him to wear? Tossed.
The handmade forever roses I carefully preserved? Now just fragile junk at the bottom of the trash can.
It’s funny how things I once thought were precious now seem like nothing more than useless, flimsy clutter.
The matching outfits I bought for us were always beneath him. He said they made him look “ridiculous.” But tucked away in the back of the closet was a matching pair of watches–the men’s version his, the women’s version I’d once seen his ex wearing.
“Anna! Come quick! Oliver’s in the parking lot fighting someone!”
“What?” I asked, my voice calm, scissors in hand, snipping away at the lucky bamboo I had nurtured for seven years–planted after I prayed for his success at the “most spiritual” temple in the city.
“He’s bleeding from his forehead! His hand’s all messed up!”
This was shocking. Oliver, the ever–composed attorney, never lost his temper. Even when someone cut him off in traffic, he’d quietly jot down their license plate and report them later, rather than dirty his hands.
He was the epitome of calm and control. When I got into a car accident years ago, he handled everything without so much as a flinch.
I’d once fallen in love with that steady, logical side of him. But now, I hated it.
Because he could lose control for another woman, but he was always too rational with me.
“Who’s the fight about?” I asked, my tone sharp, cutting straight to the point.
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On the other end of the line, his friend stammered, clearly uncomfortable.
“It’s… uh… Luna. She was being harassed by some creep, and Oliver just… lost it.”
“Don’t worry, Anna,” he quickly added, “there’s nothing going on between them. You know how Oliver is. He’s just helping her out. He’s calling your name, Anna! You need to come!”
Before, I would’ve rushed out the door at the first sign of trouble, desperate to find him.
But now? Now I just felt annoyed.
The trash bag wasn’t even tied up yet, and here he was, causing problems.
How exhausting.
The voice on the other end kept calling my name. Suddenly, Oliver’s voice came on the line, cool and composed despite the chaos around him.
“Anna, don’t worry. It’s nothing serious. Just a small accident…”
“Got it,” I said, cutting him off. “Can you get yourself to the hospital? Oh, and make sure Luna gets checked out too.”
I paused, then added, “And don’t worry about dinner tonight. You two can just eat out somewhere.”
He was stunned. Silence filled the line.
“Anna… are you mad?” he finally asked, his voice uncertain.
Before I could respond, I heard Luna’s soft, sugary voice in the background.
10:32 AM
<
“Anna, please don’t be upset with Oliver. He was just helping me. You know how kind he is. You should be proud of him, not angry.”
Then, in a quieter voice–just loud enough for me to hear–she added, “Honestly, Anna, Oliver works so hard for you. Shouldn’t you be a little more understanding? He’s bleeding, and you don’t even care. No wonder he called you controlling…”
I heard a rustling sound, followed by Oliver’s muffled voice.
“Anna, don’t listen to her. She’s just a kid–she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Ah. So this is how he sees me.
Seven years of marriage, and in his eyes, I’m just a cold, unreasonable wife.
I took a deep breath and said, “Wow. My husband getting into a fight for another woman, bleeding, risking his career. How noble.”
My throat tightened, and my chest ached, but I kept my voice steady.
“I’d never stand in the way of his heroism. Why would I?”
I hung up without waiting for a response.
My mind drifted back to years ago, when I was walking home late at night after a long shift. A group of men had started following me, their laughter echoing in the empty streets. Panicked, I called Oliver, begging him to come get me.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he’d said, barely pausing from his work. “You’re married now. What would they even want with you?”
“Relax. Stop bothering me with this nonsense.”
But now, here he was, throwing punches for Luna, risking everything for her.
The line was silent for a long time before Oliver spoke again.
“Anna? I’ll come home tonight. Let’s have fish for dinner, okay?”
His tone was soft, even a little nervous. This was his way of apologizing.
I used to love cooking for him. Whenever he asked for a specific dish, I’d forgive him for whatever he’d done, no matter how upset I was.
But now, as I sealed up the trash bag and headed to the post office to ship my luggage, I responded without emotion:
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
He hesitated, his voice growing more frantic.
“Wait for me. I’ll come home right now. I’ll even stop and pick up the fish.”
