My Wife Regrets Marrying Me Out of Spite

After a Thanksgiving dinner, my childhood friend, Calvin Sheafe, suggests playing Truth or Dare. When my wife, Tiffany Kramer, loses a round, she reluctantly chooses Truth. "When was the last time you felt nauseated?" Calvin asks with a teasing smile. "Where were you?" "10:00 pm last night. In bed," Tiffany answers without the slightest hesitation. The mood turns awkward, and a few of my friends glance my way. Tiffany and I grew up in the same neighborhood and got married soon after graduation. We'd agreed not to have children, and our marriage had always seemed happy and stable. That is, until we get into a huge fight before Thanksgiving. Tiffany has already made plans for us to spend Thanksgiving with her parents, as we've spent every holiday with them since they moved four years ago. But this year, I want to return to my hometown, Birchford, instead. When I insist on going back, Tiffany and I have a massive argument. Trying to lighten the mood, another friend jokes, "You've been married for seven years without kids. Don't tell me there's a little surprise on the way!" "Of course not." Tiffany sneers. "A woman only has a child for a man she truly loves." I shoot to my feet, and the gathering ends on a sour note. I assume Tiffany is still angry at me. But while smoking in the stairwell, I overhear her talking to Calvin. "I can't take it anymore. If you hadn't gone overseas back then, I wouldn't have married him. He kept chasing after me like a pathetic simp, and I ended up marrying him out of spite! "I never thought marrying a simp would still leave me feeling so wronged." I freeze, the cigarette ash burning into my palm. We've been married for seven years. Yet in all 2,557 days of our marriage, she has never loved me—not even for a second. Chapter 1 "If Andrew hadn't been so persistent back then, I never would have married him," Tiffany Kramer spat. "So what if we've been married for seven years? I still don't love him." Those were the only two sentences I caught from around the corner of the stairwell. I didn't listen to the rest. I didn't want to, either. The cigarette burned down to my fingertips before I finally let it fall. The scene at the dinner table kept replaying in my mind. I stood outside for 20 minutes, letting the cold night air wash over me. After standing there for what felt like an eternity, I finally made my way back upstairs. When I opened the door, the living room was quiet. Our friends had all left. Dirty plates and glasses littered the table. The leftovers and fruit platter sat untouched, while candy wrappers and crumpled tissues were scattered everywhere. The bedroom door stood open, and Tiffany emerged. "So you finally decided to come back," she said, frowning the moment she saw me. "We hardly ever get everyone together. Who did you think you were impressing by making a scene in front of everyone?" I stayed silent. "What are you standing there for?" she complained, giving me an impatient once-over. "Go wash the dishes." I stared at her, momentarily taken aback. It was as if the humiliation at the dinner table and the words I'd overheard in the stairwell had nothing to do with her. She was still ordering me around as usual. If I hadn't heard what she said earlier, I might've actually done as she said. After all, that was how I'd spent all these years with her. Trying to be the good husband she wanted, I'd given up every expensive hobby I had. I'd even passed up a promotion so I could move with her to Noxmere, far from home. Little by little, I'd adjusted to the food and climate I'd never been used to. But now, I couldn't bring myself to move. Tiffany's expression darkened. "Are you deaf? Tonight's already been stressful enough. Do I really have to repeat myself?" After every gathering, I'd always been the one left to clean up. She'd sit around replying to messages or head to the bedroom to shower, while I'd clear the plates, wash the dishes, wipe down the table, and mop the floor. I'd never minded. I used to think that was just how marriage worked. One person had to do a little more than the other sometimes. But that day, staring at the greasy plates piled across the table, I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. Eventually, I took a deep breath and walked over. I began stacking the plates one by one. Tiffany's expression relaxed once she saw me finally move. She turned back toward the bedroom and didn't even bother to say another word, as though this was simply what I was supposed to do. The sound of running water filled the kitchen as I washed the dishes, my thoughts drifting back over everything that had happened. When I finished washing the last plate, I turned off the tap. The kitchen fell silent. I dried my hands and stood in front of the bedroom door. Tiffany was propped up against the headboard, scrolling through her phone without even looking up. "Are you done with the dishes?" I looked at her. "Do you regret marrying me?" Chapter 2 Only then did Tiffany look up, her brows knitting together. "What the hell is your problem?" I held her gaze until she finally grew irritated. "I'm exhausted today," she said, tossing her phone aside. "I don't want to argue with you. If you're still going to make a fuss about going back to Birchford, then sleep in the study tonight." With that, she lay down and pulled the blanket up over herself. She turned her back to me, as though even looking at me was too much trouble. I stood in the doorway and suddenly laughed. I couldn't believe how pathetic I was. I turned and headed to the study. As I closed the door behind me, the resolve hardened. I was done with this marriage. I left the study light on all night, but by dawn, I still hadn't slept a wink. Tiffany got up as usual, washed up, put on her makeup, warmed some milk, and got dressed. She didn't even slow down when she passed the study, as if last night's silent treatment had been nothing worth worrying about. It seemed like I wasn't even worth her effort. Just before leaving, she finally glanced into the study. "I won't be home for dinner tonight," she said. "We're out of groceries, so remember to pick some up." With that, she grabbed her bag and left. The door slammed shut, and silence descended over the apartment. I sat in the chair, unmoving. The night before, she'd humiliated me at the dinner table, admitted in the stairwell that she'd never loved me, then came home and ordered me to wash the dishes. And now, the next morning, she could still order me to buy groceries as if nothing had happened. After seven years of marriage, I was nothing more than someone for her to order around and take advantage of. I got up and returned to the bedroom. From the very bottom of a drawer, I took out a document. It was a divorce agreement I'd printed six months ago. Mom had been hospitalized back then, and I'd asked Tiffany to come home with me to visit her. But she'd said her father had more important matters to deal with, and she couldn't get away. I spent three days alone at the hospital. On my way back, I stopped to print the divorce agreement. Later, Tiffany sent me a message. "That must've been hard on you." It was rare to hear that from her, so I put the document back in the drawer. Looking back, I couldn't help laughing at myself. Later that day, I laid the agreement on the coffee table and started packing my clothes. Her clothes took up most of the wardrobe, while my shirts and jackets were crammed into the farthest corner, as if I were just a temporary guest in my own home. I dragged out a suitcase and began folding my clothes into it, one piece at a time. Halfway through, the front door suddenly opened. Tiffany was back earlier than usual. When she strode in wearing heels and spotted the suitcase in the living room, she froze. "What are you doing?" she asked, her expression hardening. I folded the last shirt and placed it in the suitcase. "Let's get a divorce." She stared at me, as if she hadn't heard me clearly. Two seconds later, she scoffed. "Is this because of what happened last night?" I stared at her, taken aback by how casually she dismissed it. Tiffany tossed her bag onto the couch, visibly annoyed. "People say things they don't mean when they argue," she said. "What's so unusual about that? You're a grown man, for God's sake. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of it?" The last shred of warmth I had toward her vanished as I looked at her. She had no idea what I'd overheard the night before. I pushed the divorce agreement across the coffee table toward her. "Sign it." She glanced at the papers, her smile waning. "Are you serious about this?" "Yeah." Tiffany stared at me for a moment, then she chuckled. "You really think you can leave me?" she asked. "You chased me for years. For seven years after we got married, you built your entire life around me. And now you're asking for a divorce over one stupid game? Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" I said nothing. She swept the agreement off the table, sending the papers fluttering to the floor. "Stop this nonsense. What kind of life do you think you'll have without me? Your career, your daily life, your social obligations—I've been there to help you through all of it. And it's not like we haven't broken up before. You always came crawling back to me like a dog, begging me to take you back." I bent down and picked up the papers one by one, a dull ache spreading through my chest. "Remember to sign it," I said, straightening the pages before placing the agreement back on the coffee table. "We'll start the divorce process tomorrow." Chapter 3 Just then, Tiffany's phone buzzed with a message. "Alright, babe. Don't be mad. I'll come pick you up tomorrow." The sender was Calvin Sheafe, my childhood friend. Tiffany's expression changed. I snatched her phone, and the moment I saw the message, it felt as though someone had punched me square in the chest. Tiffany lunged for her phone, but I dodged her outstretched hand. "Give it back to me," she gritted out. I ignored her and opened their chat. The next second, I froze. Their messages stretched back so far that I couldn't even find the beginning at first. "You looked upset last night. It breaks my heart to see you like that. "Did he start picking fights with you again? "Just hang in there a little longer. Soon, you won't have to put up with him anymore." I scrolled through the messages, my hands growing colder with every line. All those times I'd swallowed my pride and tried to make things right with her, she'd been on another man's side all along. Tiffany lunged for the phone again, her voice finally breaking. "Stop reading!" I paid no attention to her and kept scrolling. "You never should've married him. "If I hadn't gone overseas, we'd have been together years ago. "When the time is right, divorce him. I'll marry you." I stared at that last message, each breath growing heavier than the last. Below Calvin's string of messages was Tiffany's reply. "Just wait a little longer. My dad's company just got its loan approved, and we still need him to handle a lot of things for us. Let's wait until things settle down." I stared at those words, and suddenly, I didn't even feel angry anymore. I was disgusted. To Tiffany, the seven years we spent together meant nothing. I wasn't her husband. I was a mere tool, someone she could rely on to handle her family's affairs, keep up appearances, and bail them out whenever things went wrong. Tiffany finally snatched her phone back, her face pale. "It's not what you think." "Then what is it?" I asked hoarsely. She opened her mouth, but couldn't come up with an answer. "Fine." I nodded. "Let me spell it out for you. You don't love me, but you won't divorce me because I'm still useful to you." Something flickered in her eyes, but she didn't deny it. The time we had together suddenly felt like one big joke. I turned and went back to the bedroom to finish packing, while Tiffany followed me to the doorway. "Are you really leaving?" she asked, her tone softening. "Yeah." "If you walk out tonight, don't expect me to swallow my pride and come crawling back." I paused for a moment before I laughed. She'd said those exact words every time we'd argued, but for the first time, I wasn't afraid of losing her anymore. I zipped up my suitcase and wheeled it toward the door. As I passed through the living room, I noticed a corner of a piece of paper sticking out from beneath the coffee table. It looked like a hospital document. I hadn't intended to bother with it, but I found myself stopping anyway. I bent down and pulled it out. The moment I glanced at it, I froze. It was an obstetrics and gynecology report bearing Tiffany's name. Two words stood out in the results section—"early pregnancy". My mind went blank. Tiffany's face turned ashen as she rushed over and tried to snatch it from me. "Give it back!" she cried. I raised the report out of her reach, glaring at her. "You're pregnant?" Her lips trembled, but she couldn't even get a single word out. Suddenly, everything fell into place. What she'd said at the dinner table, what I'd overheard in the stairwell, and the report in my hands all pointed to the same truth. The night before, she'd said that a woman would only have a child for the man she truly loved. She'd sounded so certain because she was already pregnant. After reading those messages, I could only suspect the child was Calvin's. I demanded, "Whose is it?" She looked away, unable to meet my eyes, but that was all the answer I needed. "So everything you said last night was true." I let out a bitter laugh, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "Let's start the divorce process tomorrow." Tiffany's head snapped up. For the first time, I saw genuine panic in her eyes, but I no longer cared. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out. Chapter 4 I went back to Birchford. I didn't answer Tiffany's calls or reply to any of her messages. On the third day, I had the divorce papers delivered to her office, but she refused to sign them. I knew she was trying to drag things out. Her parents and best friend took turns calling me, all making more or less the same argument. Couples fought all the time, they said, and I couldn't just throw away seven years together. But I ignored every single one of them. Two weeks later, I requested a transfer back to Herville, in Birchford. I'd moved to Noxmere for Tiffany, but now, all I wanted was to return to where I belonged. When Mom saw how much weight I'd lost, she didn't ask any questions. Instead, she made a point of cooking something different for me every day. Dad sat on the balcony, smoking. After a long silence, he finally said, "It's good to have you home." And just like that, I broke down crying like a young boy, despite being a grown man in my 30s. … The divorce proceedings dragged on for a month, but eventually, it was over. Tiffany didn't look at me once throughout the process, though her hands wouldn't stop trembling when it came time to sign the papers. I didn't look at her either. As we left the courthouse, she suddenly stopped on the steps. "Don't come crying to me when you regret this," she called after me. I didn't stop walking. "I won't." After that day, we cut ties completely. I changed my phone number, moved somewhere new, and took a different job. Back in Noxmere, I'd put my own career on hold to help with her family's business. Now I was back in academia, working on a collaborative research project and teaching as a professor. Once work kept me busy, much of what had happened gradually faded into the background. Still, there were nights when I'd wake up thinking about those seven years and how much of a fool I'd been. … Three months later, word began circulating among our mutual acquaintances that Tiffany and Calvin were officially together. They worked on projects and attended business meetings together, hardly ever leaving each other's side. When a friend sent me the news, he cautiously asked, "Are you okay?" "I'm good," I simply replied. And I meant it. At least they no longer had to sneak around behind my back. Some time later, Kate Sawyer, the CEO of one of our partner companies, invited me to dinner. She said a team from another office would be coming to Herville and wanted me to meet them. I agreed. The dinner was arranged at an upscale private club, and not everyone was there yet when I arrived. Kate chatted with me about our projects and mentioned that she knew two people on the visiting team. Both were highly capable, she said, and we might end up working together long-term. I didn't think much of it. Then the door to our private dining room opened. Tiffany was the first to walk in. She wore a sharp business suit, her makeup immaculate. Calvin followed close behind. They were chatting as they entered, looking completely at ease as business partners. "Perfect timing! Let me introduce you," Kate said, rising with a smile to greet them. "This is the professor who recently transferred to Herville. You may not have met him before. He moved to Noxmere after getting married a few years ago, but he's back now and plans to settle here for good." As soon as Kate finished speaking, Tiffany and Calvin turned toward me. The moment they saw me, they froze.