Our Marriage Cost One Dime Chapter 2

The next morning, a soft rustling sound woke me.

My abdomen was still cramping, and when I tried to sit up, a sharp pain shot through my lower back.

Supporting myself against the wall, I slowly made my way to the living room. The kitchen light was on.

Andrew was standing by the counter, meticulously cutting vegetables.

For a fleeting second, I wondered if he had retained some sliver of humanity—if he knew I had just undergone a procedure and was making me some soup.

But as I drew closer, I saw what he was actually doing. Andrew was preparing an elaborate bento box for his intern.

He was even carefully writing out a pastel sticky note:

Avoid iced Americanos if your stomach is upset. Make sure to eat lunch on time.

I stood there, watching him, and a wave of pure absurdity washed over me.

Andrew knew how to take care of someone. He just chose not to take care of me.

Hearing my footsteps, he turned around and frowned.

"Why are you out of bed?"

I looked at the neatly arranged bento containers on the counter.

"Who is that for?"

He clicked the lids shut, his voice level.

"Mia’s stomach was acting up yesterday. Takeout is too greasy for her, and she has to accompany me to a client meeting today. She can't do that on an empty stomach."

I nodded, asking nothing more.

My eyes drifted to the dining table. Resting there was a stale bag of bread heels and a glass of cold tap water. The kettle hadn't even been turned on.

My mind dragged me back to the worst weeks of my pregnancy.

My morning sickness had been debilitating; I couldn't keep anything down. One night, I spent hours on the bathroom floor, dry-heaving until my chest burned. As dawn broke, exhausted and shivering, I managed to crawl out and ask Andrew if he could walk down to the corner bakery to get me some warm tea and a bagel.

He had merely rolled over, his eyes closed.

"Can't you just use DoorDash?"

I told him delivery would take forty minutes and that I was in agony.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair with deep irritation.

"Diana, it's five-thirty in the morning. You want me to get dressed and go outside just for a bagel?"

Before lying back down, he added, "And make sure you pay for it yourself. Don't use the joint account."

I had sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the delivery app on my phone until I didn't even have the strength to order.

And then there was the night I started bleeding.

I had collapsed near the bathroom door, blood pooling on the tile, frantically calling Andrew.

I called him seven times.

The first six went straight to voicemail. On the seventh, Mia answered.

Her voice had been soft, thick with sleep.

“Diana? Andrew just fell asleep. He’s had an exhausting day. If it’s not urgent, can you call back tomorrow?”

I had sat there, clutching my phone, my body shaking violently. In the end, it was my neighbor who drove me to the emergency room.

Yet now, because Mia had a mild stomach ache, Andrew had pulled himself out of bed at six in the morning to hand-carve vegetables for her lunch.

I watched him pack the bento into a canvas tote bag, and a quiet laugh slipped past my lips.

Andrew stopped what he was doing and turned to me.

"What is so funny?"

I sat down at the dining table, looking at him.

"The three-thousand-dollar necklace—was that also just part of mentoring a new hire?"

His entire body stiffened.

"Have you been going through my things?"

"I saw the bank notification," I said, my gaze steady on his. "Andrew, does a standard intern promotion require a three-thousand-dollar piece of jewelry?"

He recovered quickly, setting the bento bag aside, his tone turning defensive and impatient.

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill."

"Managing people requires nuance. She’s young, she was anxious about transitioning to full-time, and giving her a proper gift builds loyalty to the company."

"Why is it that women always have to twist professional relationships into something sordid?"

I looked at him, realizing how truly delusional he was.

"A professional relationship?"

"You pay for a three-thousand-dollar class, buy her a three-thousand-dollar necklace, and wake up at dawn to cook her lunch. You call that professional?"

His expression darkened.

"Diana, you are being incredibly paranoid right now."

"I’ve explained myself. What more do you want from me?"

I looked down, my finger tracing the rim of the cold water glass.

"I don't want anything."

"I just finally see things clearly. You’re not incapable of cherishing someone, Andrew. You just never cared to cherish me."

He seemed taken aback, staring at me in silence for a moment before his brow furrowed again.

"If you're determined to play the martyr, I can't stop you."

He checked his watch, grabbed his car keys and the bento bag, and headed for the door.

As he opened it, he stopped and looked back.

"Since you’re taking the day off, make sure you audit the utility bills. Last month’s gas bill was unusually high. Check if you’ve been taking excessively long showers again."

The door clicked shut behind him.