“Whatever you’re making for the kids, I’ll take two,” he said.
Then came his birthday. Dorian had been dropping hints for weeks, talking about how he wanted “something special” this year.
So I decided to give him exactly that.
I cooked his favorite meal — roast duck with a cherry glaze and creamy mashed potatoes — following his grandmother’s recipes. The house smelled heavenly.
I set the table with candles and flowers, every detail perfect. I even dressed up, makeup carefully applied, hair smooth and glossy after two rounds of conditioner. The children were at my sister’s house, so there would be no distractions.
Dorian walked in and immediately grinned.
“Now this is more like it, Lila,” he said smugly, slipping off his jacket. He looked around at the candles, the table, and the meal, waiting for him. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to make an effort. This is how a real wife behaves.”
“I didn’t forget,” I said softly. “I just needed the right occasion.”
He didn’t notice the edge in my voice. He just sat, rubbing his hands together like a child about to open presents. When I brought out the silver cloche and set it in front of him, his eyes lit up.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Your surprise is ready, honey.”
He lifted the lid with a flourish, expecting perfectly carved duck. Instead, he froze at the sight of the manila envelope.
“What is this?” His smile faltered, and his voice cracked.
“Happy birthday, Dorian,” I replied evenly. “Consider this as my gift to the both of us.”
He opened it with trembling hands. Divorce papers slid out across the white tablecloth.
“Lila… what the heck is this supposed to mean? Is this a joke? Do you really think this is funny?” Dorian’s eyes widened, flicking up to mine.
“It means,” I said calmly, my heart hammering but my voice strong, “that this is the last time you’ll ever mistake my silence for weakness again.”
“But Lila — “
“But Lila, what? You told me that I looked like a scarecrow. You told me that I don’t try. You said you missed women who made an effort. And you meant every word, didn’t you?”
Dorian’s face drained of color. He stammered, his hands gripping the edge of the table.
“I didn’t mean it like that, honey… I really didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” I said, pushing my chair back and smoothing down the fabric of my dress.
For the first time in years, I looked beautiful — not because of Dorian, but because I had chosen to do it for myself.
“The truth is, I never stopped trying to be the woman you fell in love with. I just stopped trying for you.”
“Lila, wait,” Dorian said, his chair scraping the floor loudly as he scrambled to stand. “Please. Think of the kids.”
“The kids need a mother who respects herself, Dorian,” I said, pausing in the doorway, my hand resting on the frame. “They need a mother who shows them that love doesn’t mean swallowing cruelty. I’ll be damned if Emma grows up to accept insults, and I’ll be disappointed if my sons end up like you.”
Six months later, I saw Dorian again at a busy intersection. At first, I almost didn’t recognize him. His clothes were stained, his beard grown wild, and his eyes were hollowed out by choices he couldn’t undo.
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