Chapter 10: The Quiet Goodbye

Rachel was probably the perfect wife and good mother everyone talks about. She did everything thoroughly and carefully, and never lost her temper. Even when she caught me and Natalie kissing in the parking lot, she didn’t get angry. I still remember that night clearly. Her eyes were full of disbelief. But when I went upstairs, she still cooked dinner as usual and waited for me on the sofa.

I remember her sitting in her favorite chair, feet tucked under her, the TV on but the sound muted. She watched me come in, then stood and went to the kitchen without a word.

At that moment, I really wanted to ask her: did she not love me at all? No woman can tolerate her man being with another woman. But she didn’t ask a word. She just watched me wash my hands, served me food.

I stared at the plate—her signature roast chicken, still steaming, the smell of rosemary and garlic filling the room. Rachel met my eyes, steady as ever.

Natalie said, “She already saw. If you don’t mention divorce today, then let’s break up.”

I couldn’t stand hearing Natalie talk about breaking up. So I confessed to Rachel. That meal was the most nerve-racking of my life.

“Let’s get a divorce, okay?”

I asked Rachel. Her hand holding the fork paused slightly, then she agreed. Rachel didn’t even ask who the woman downstairs was, or when it started.

She just nodded. “Let me know when you’ve drafted the divorce agreement. Tonight, you sleep in the guest room. Remember to put the dishes in the dishwasher.”

After dinner, Rachel went back to the bedroom. Before leaving, she glanced at the dishes on the table and reminded me. Actually, before marriage, we’d agreed on this: she’d cook, I’d wash the dishes. Later, I found it troublesome and installed a dishwasher, so after eating she just put the dishes in there. She never seemed to lose her temper. Even with the divorce.

I found myself lingering in the kitchen that night, just staring at the hum of the dishwasher, the little green light pulsing. That was the end of us—a routine, quiet and clean.

I stood in the kitchen, the dishwasher’s hum the only thing left between us. Maybe that was the real end—not the papers, not the fights, just the silence after the routine.