I Give Up This Rotten Marriage

I decided to turn off my phone.

But late that night, after the meeting had ended, I got a call from another classmate saying Oscar had drunk too much and passed out at the restaurant.

Panic gripped me instantly.

Despite being exhausted and hungry, I hailed a cab and rushed over.

Oscar had indeed had too much to drink. The moment he saw me, his eyes reddened, and this six-foot-tall man collapsed into my arms like a bear.

He murmured against my neck, “Honey…”

"I'm here." My heart ached for him as I struggled to lift him. “Come on, let's go home.”

But the next moment, he threw up all over my pants and shoes.

I gasped, quickly shoved him into the car, and prepared to head home immediately.

Just then, a slender figure came running out of the restaurant.

“He left his wallet behind.”

Without looking, I took it and thanked her, ready to leave. But she suddenly gripped the car door.

"So, you're his wife."

The challenge in her voice was so palpable that my head snapped up in an instant.

The neon lights from the distant street flickered, casting colorful shadows over the woman.

Seven years had passed, and she had become even more alluring. Her wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her floral V-neck dress revealed just enough to be provocative. Her makeup was flawless, and her red lips were tempting.

"Sharon," I managed an awkward smile, "long time no see."

How could it not be awkward?

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the side mirror — a tired, worn-out face after a long day of work, no makeup, hair messily tied back, and vomit stains on my clothes.

It had been seven years.

But every time I saw her, I felt like the loser.

…

Thankfully, Oscar broke the silence.

He seemed a bit more sober, yet not entirely. His head rested on my shoulder as he mumbled my name.

"Joelle, my wife..." he slurred, "I shouldn’t have called you and interrupted your work. Please, don’t be mad at me, okay?"

My heart softened completely.

I knew what he was worried about.

When I decided to be with him, my friends and relatives all disapproved because he came from a poor family, just a kid with nothing to his name.

So, Oscar spent these years pushing himself hard, determined to prove that being with him wasn’t a mistake and that I wasn’t settling for less.

He wanted me to quit my job, to dress up and look perfect at important events—just to prove himself.

In the beginning, life was tough.

We lived in a damp basement, where the ceiling leaked endlessly whenever it rained, and we had to place small red plastic basins to catch the drips.

Amidst the steady rhythm of dripping water, we clung to each other, and Oscar, his eyes fierce with determination, would whisper again and again, "Joelle, I won't let you down."

He always felt like he owed me, but that wasn’t true.

Even during those days when our pockets were empty, I was happier than many.

He would cook all three meals for me every day, pick me up from work in the pouring rain, and fight anyone who dared to upset me. He gave me everything he had, never keeping even a coin for himself.

He wasn’t a perfect boyfriend, but he was the boy who, if he had ten dollars, would give it all to me without keeping a cent for himself.

True love could endure anything.

At that moment, as he held me in the cab and called me his wife, his words echoed in my mind again.

So, I lifted my head, gave Sharon a genuine and confident smile, and said, “Yes, we’ve been together for seven years now, and we’re very happy.”