In our eight years of marriage, our conversations had always been a one-sided stream of unread messages from me. Adrian would only reply on rare occasions as if it were a privilege he granted to me. And whenever he did respond, it would be just a few lines. It felt like a small victory to me before.
I would then light up, chatting eagerly as though we were still in the honeymoon stage of our relationship, hanging on to every word as if nothing had changed. But this time, I glanced at the message with a sense of detachment, locked my phone screen, and didn't reply.
Later that evening, when Adrian returned, I ate takeout at the dining table. He didn't try to hide his disdain as he gave me a sharp look.
His eyes moved from the takeout container to me, and without a hint of patience, he snapped out, "Emily, you'll eat just about anything, won't you?"
Without waiting to explain, he took the takeout container from my hands and tossed it into the trash can outside the door. Then, he pulled out a polished thermos and set it on the dining table more carefully.
"Here. Eat this instead," he said.
Before I could open it, he tossed something else into my lap.
It was a hand cream.
"I had someone pick this up abroad. It's supposed to be really effective."
I glanced at the packaging, unimpressed, and put the cream back on the table.
My voice was calm as I said, "No thanks. I can't use something that expensive."
That set him off.
Then and there, Adrian leaned over the table, irritation flashing across his face as he lashed out, "Emily, stop acting like you're doing me a favor! It's just a tie, for god's sake! If it's ruined, buy a new one. Why are you making a big deal out of it?"
"No, I'm not," I honestly replied, which only caused him to scoff.
"You're not? Then why won't you take the gift? Why do you look like you're jealous again? Come on, Emily! You're already thirty. Do you really think you can still compete with women in their twenties?"
It wasn't the first time he had thrown my age in my face. He often compared me to Clara, who was only two years younger than me.
In frustration, I confronted him, tears brimming in my eyes as I demanded an answer.
"What are you trying to say, Adrian? That I'm old and washed up? Clara is more attractive since she's younger and prettier, huh? Are you planning to divorce me and marry her instead?"