Chapter 10: The Motel Line

At dinner, Natalie unusually praised the soup I made: “All these years of marriage, I’ve always cooked and never heard you praise me. Did you do something to let me down, so now you’re deliberately being nice?”

She tasted the broth and set her spoon down, her tone half-joking but loaded. In seven years, she’d never fished for compliments, never sought reassurance from me. Tonight, every word was weighted.

Natalie’s face stiffened for a couple of seconds, then she got a bit angry out of embarrassment: “Are you serious right now? Can’t I even praise your cooking?”

I watched her cheeks flush, a sharp, defensive look in her eye. Natalie didn’t like being caught off-guard—she’d rather go on the attack than admit to feeling vulnerable. She always did.

She put down her spoon heavily. “Not eating. What a mood killer.”

Her spoon clattered against the bowl, echoing in the awkward silence. She shoved back her chair, a storm brewing in her expression, as if the kitchen walls themselves were closing in.

Everything she did tonight screamed ‘guilty.’

It was like watching a bad actor in a community theater play—every gesture overdone, every word transparent. The whole dinner felt staged, unnatural.

I watched her quietly. “Why are you so irritable today? This isn’t like you.”

I kept my voice soft, as if talking to a wounded animal. My words hung in the air between us, thick with accusation.

Natalie was speechless.

She met my eyes for a long moment, her lips pressed thin, knuckles white on the table. The silence was louder than any argument we’d ever had.

We stared at each other for a while. She spat out, “Ridiculous,” and went back to the bedroom.

She slammed the door behind her, and I listened to the soft thud as she collapsed onto the bed, the muffled rustle of her comforter.

That night, I tossed and turned in bed. We each had our own comforter, and the king-sized bed was split by an invisible line—like two strangers sharing a motel room out of necessity. I stared at that line, memories flashing by of all the years I tried to please her, and her constant coldness.