Chapter 6 — From the Day I Didn't Ask

But he didn't leave. At noon, when my mother went to get food from the restaurant, he sat on a folding chair and suddenly spoke.

“Do you want to divorce me?”

My hand holding the phone stopped. I looked up at him. His eyes were glued to the floor, his voice was very low: "You are like this now, you don't tell me anything, you don't let me participate in anything. Have you already written out my name in your heart?" I didn't answer right away. Because I'm not sure about the answer either. Two months before he said that, I had never thought about divorce. A month before receiving the medical examination results, I didn't even think about it. But the moment he asked this question, I realized. I don't know anymore.

“How do you feel?” I asked him back.

“What?”

“Do you think we still look like husband and wife?”

He raised his head to look at me, panic in his eyes.

"For two months now, I haven't asked you anything. Do you find it strange?"

He opened his mouth to say something.

“Tell me the truth.”

He was silent for a long time.

“… The first week, I felt light on debt.”

I nodded.

“The second week, I thought you were angry.”

I continued to nod.

“After that… I felt bad. But I didn't know how to open my mouth.”

“Why don't you know?”

“Because.” He hesitated, "Because I realized I was the one who said those words, I don't have the right to tell you to stick to me anymore."

I looked at him. This was the first time in three years that he spoke clearly and honestly to me. We argued before, no, we rarely argued. Because every time it's me who humbles first, always the one who says, "Okay, okay, I'm not angry anymore." You never had to explain anything, because I never gave you a chance to. I forgive too quickly. It was so fast that he felt that it didn't matter what he said, I would digest it all on my own anyway.

“Do you know what makes me feel the most cold?” I spoke up.

He looked at me.

“It's not the statement itself. It's that after you finished speaking, your colleagues burst out laughing. And you laughed too.”

The color drained from his face.

"You laughed and criticized me in front of those people, as if I were a joke. I felt like I could have face in society. But I didn't know that my dignity was gained by trampling on you."

His eyes turned red, he bit his lip, his throat twitched.

“You are wrong.”

Three words. Very softly. I'm not saying, "It's okay." Also don't say "I forgive you". I just picked up my phone and continued scrolling. My mother brought home rice. He stood up to take it, placing it on the small table at the head of my bed. My mother looked at him and then back at me, saying nothing. Three people in the hospital room, each holding their own feelings. 09 On the day of discharge from the hospital, he drove to pick me up. My mother sat in the back seat, I sat in the passenger seat. Exactly like the trip back from the hot pot restaurant two months ago. Same seat, same silence. But things are no longer the same as before. Arriving at the apartment lobby, he quickly got out of the car and came around to open the door for me. As soon as I reached out to help, I grabbed the car door and got out.

“I can walk by myself.”

His hand stiffened in midair, then retracted. My mother sat behind and sighed softly. Go upstairs, enter the house. Everything in the house is still the same as when I left. nothing changes. On the tea table there were still two boxes of takeout food that had not been thrown away, and in the sink were piles of dishes and chopsticks from two days ago. My mother saw it, her face darkened. He quickly rushed to clean up: "I haven't had time to clean up in a few days."

“Stop it.” My mother said, "Let me do it. Take your wife inside and lie down."

I went into the bedroom and lay on my bed. Familiar pillow, familiar blanket.