On the day I returned to North City, I told no one. I grabbed the cat carrier and went to my small apartment that I had bought. It was an old building, in a somewhat rundown neighborhood.
The place was a second-hand apartment, but I had designed and supervised the renovation myself and had never been able to bring myself to sell it.
But to my surprise, the security in this old complex was so poor. The door was pried open, and the smell of alcohol so strong it made me take several steps back. I quickly called the police.
The officers arrived quickly and broke down the door. Aldric was lying unconscious in my living room, drunk beyond recognition.
I grabbed a basin of cold water and poured it over his face, then opened all the windows. The damp, chilling wind blew in, prickling my skin like a thousand needles.
Aldric jerked awake, his bleary eyes looking at me in confusion. "Yamilet, you're back… am I dreaming?"
"Yes, you're dreaming."
I grabbed him by the collar, slapped him twice, and asked with a smile, "Are you awake now? Let's talk about the divorce." He froze for a moment, stiffly pulling a smile. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his voice. "Yamilet, have you eaten?"
"Are you hungry? I'll cook you some noodles. I bought some groceries the other day and put them in the fridge. I know you love clear broth egg noodles…"
He mumbled, opening the bedroom door, then the bathroom, and finally trembling as he opened the fridge. He gripped the doorframe and stared blankly inside.
The fridge had been unplugged for a long time.
A foul odor wafted out.
"Aldric," I said, trying to snap him back to reality.
"You cheated. For a whole year."
"You killed my cat—"
"I didn't, I didn't!" he protested.
He wiped away a tear, then eagerly showed me a video on his phone.
"Look, I searched everywhere and finally found Sammy. Look, doesn't it look just like her?" It did look similar.
If Sammy hadn't truly died in my arms, I might have even thought I had made a mistake. My eyes stung, but I didn't speak, watching him in silence.
He gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his fingers pressing hard as if trying to crush the screen.
I sighed. "Aldric, it's not my cat."
"It can be, Yamilet. It can be! It will always be!"
He inhaled sharply, staring at me with wide eyes, as if waiting for a sign. After five minutes of me not responding, he slammed the phone to the ground, the sharp metallic pieces grazing his cheek and leaving a long cut, blood trickling down.
The cheap light bulb above us was too bright, almost blinding, and hurt my eyes.
The man in front of me, unshaven and in wrinkled clothes, looked like a mess. I began to wonder: without the filter of me liking him, was he really just this pathetic?
He's getting bored and looking for some excitement.
He might feel that love from his youth is like a piece of chewed-up gum—no flavor left, but it still takes up space. It's tasteless, but letting go doesn't seem like a big deal either.
Just like all the unfaithful, greedy, selfish men out there, Aldric was no different.
After what felt like an eternity—long enough that I almost called the police again—Aldric suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around me. I struggled, but he held me even tighter.
His soft sobs escaped from my chest, his shoulders shaking violently. It was a long time before he managed to speak.
"After you left, I watched the surveillance footage at home over and over, and I truly felt like a beast."
"Not felt," I reminded him flatly, "you are a beast—one who only knows how to satisfy his desires."
"You're insulting me." He suddenly laughed, his voice choked with tears. "I really was wrong, I beg you, I'm really sorry. I just... I just thought, when you and I were together, we were so miserable, and I thought if I treated Vivienne better, it would somehow make up for what I did to you."
"But now, I realize just how terribly wrong I was."
"I was way out of line..."
Yeah.
That's terrible.
When I first discovered he had cheated, I tossed and turned, wondering where I went wrong. Was I not as pretty as Vivienne? Was I not young enough? Was I not gentle enough?
I even rejected the person I had spent twenty-six years becoming, trying to imitate the way another woman dressed and spoke.
One day, when I looked into my wardrobe filled with clothes that weren't even remotely my style, I hated myself so much that I wished I could take a knife and press it to Aldric's throat, kill him, and then end my own life right afterward.
Looking back now, it was clearly a nightmare that made no sense but still devoured me whole.
As I stared at his red, tear-streaked face, I suddenly remembered that day.
It was the same as now—he cried as he said those cruel words: "I think I've fallen for someone else, and I can't help but pity her. Yamilet, what should I do?"
What should you do? Go die.
What did men's tears mean? Did they carry some sacred weight? Did I have to comfort them, applaud them, and listen to all the nonsensical excuses they spun?
It was laughable.
I laughed bitterly, the look in my eyes one of unfiltered, scornful mockery:
"Aldric, cheating is unforgivable, and betrayal is just that—betrayal. No matter how many excuses you come up with, how much you try to justify it or shift the blame onto me, all it does is make you look selfish, dumb, and spineless. Honestly, it's just disgusting."
