Worm Pasta Was My Last Straw

And now, barely two months later, she'd spent a hundred thousand dollars on a ring for Tristan Crocker.

So it was never about wasting money.

I just wasn't worth spending it on.

A cold laugh escaped me.

I didn't take the bouquet she'd offered.

Wendy didn't get upset. Instead, she reached over and straightened my wrinkled collar before fixing my tie.

Smiling, she said, "You're a grown man and still can't take care of yourself. I've been so busy lately I haven't even had time to help wash your hair. Look at you—you've got dandruff."

The people around us looked on with envy.

They didn't know Wendy only acted this gentle when she wanted something.

Or when she was trying to smooth over a mistake.

Every time, I'd softened.

Every time, I'd forgiven her.

And every time, she pushed a little further.

Not anymore.

I turned and walked away.

Wendy hurried after me with Tristan trailing behind.

"Honey, you've lost weight lately. Is your allowance not enough? I'll raise it to a thousand dollars, okay?"

A second ago, she'd been saying I'd gained weight.

Her excuses were getting sloppier by the day.

But I knew Wendy.

She never played nice without a reason.

Sure enough, she smiled and got to the point. "You were right. Tristan still isn't capable enough.

"How about you give him a few smaller clients to practice with? Once he's trained up, he can help take some of the pressure off you.

"I just hate seeing you work so hard."

I smiled. "That makes sense."

Her eyes immediately lit up.

She thought she'd won. "I knew you'd understand. Tristan's young and immature. I'll make sure he listens to you."

At her look, Tristan reluctantly nodded.

I watched the two of them.

My resignation statement was already typed out.

"You're right. I am under a lot of pressure. But I don't need him to share it. If I resign, there won't be any pressure."

Then I hit post.

The second it went live, my entire social circle exploded.

"Resign? Are you serious?"

Wendy looked ready to lose her temper.

Then her phone started vibrating nonstop.

"He isn't really resigning," she told whoever was calling. "I've just been busy lately and neglected him. He's throwing a little tantrum."

But the calls kept coming.

She was overwhelmed.

While she was distracted, I left.

The moment I got into my car, my phone started blowing up with her calls.

I blocked her.

Out of sight, out of mind.

I didn't have much money, so staying at a hotel wasn't an option.

I figured she'd come home and confront me.

She never showed up.

Not that I cared.

The next morning, I woke up to a flood of videos from Tristan.

In one, Wendy—who never cooked—was wearing an apron and learning recipes for him.

In another, the same woman who always claimed she was too busy to travel with me was taking him to the beach, on skiing trips, and on vacations all over the world under the excuse of "business travel."

Every video was another reminder of who she chose.

At the bottom of the chat were a few messages.

[Those three deals Wendy gave me? I sabotaged them on purpose. I just wanted you to see that she only cares about me.]

[She couldn't even bring herself to make me write that ten-thousand-word self-criticism. She wrote it for me. Has she ever done that for you?]

[Once all your clients become mine, it'll be time for you to disappear.]

I stared at the messages.

Combined with the things a few clients had quietly hinted to me before, everything finally clicked into place.