I Divorced Him Over a Bowl of Pasta With Cilantro

I brought up divorce the moment Julian came home.

He froze, then turned with a weary smile. Is this still about the cilantro in your pasta that day?

I zipped up my suitcase, nodding noncommittally. Sure. Let's say it's about that.

He hung up his coat and ruffled my hair, a familiar gesture. Come on, princess. Stop making a fuss. I was just busy and forgot. It was an accident.

He reached for me, expecting our usual hug. "How can I make it up to you? Flowers? That new handbag you wanted? Or what about the latest necklace from that designer?"

In seven years of marriage, he'd always been generous. He was sure I couldn't bear to leave him.

But I stepped back, looking calmly at his handsome face. "Let's just end it here. The divorce papers are on the table. Don't forget to sign them."

A man who couldn't even remember my cilantro allergy was a man I no longer wanted.

"Just because I added cilantro to your pasta the day I left for my business trip?"

Julian's face held a familiar mix of exasperated indulgence. He stepped forward and ruffled my hair. "Princess, I honestly just forgot. It was a mistake. I promise it won't happen again, okay?"

His voice was gentle, his expression doting, just like it had always been. It was that very tenderness that had made me fall for him, that had carried us through seven years of marriage, from junior employees to him being the CEO, from a rented apartment to this sprawling villa. I had once believed we could go on like this forever.

But what if his tenderness wasn't reserved for me alone?

I gripped the handle of my suitcase and moved past him. "This is it. I'm leaving. The divorce papers are on the counter. Make sure you sign them."

"Zoe!" Julian grabbed my wrist. "Stop fooling around. I was wrong. Let me make it up to you, okay? A hundred red roses? Or that new sapphire necklace from Tiffany's?"

He sounded sincere, but his voice was laced with an easy confidence. He moved closer, his warmth pressing against me as he tried to pull me into an embrace. "We've been married for years, and you're still throwing tantrums like a child?"

I ripped my arm away with a force that made him stumble. He stared at me, shocked. I met his gaze, my voice steady. "I have never liked red roses. I like white lisianthus."

A flicker of somethingguilt?crossed his eyes. He stiffened. "Zoe, I'm sorry, I..."

Before he could finish, the sound of the fingerprint scanner at the door beeped. The door swung open, and in walked Amelia.

His secretary. Her pretty face registered surprise, but a glint of triumph flashed in her eyes as she saw my suitcase.

"Zoe," she chirped, her voice light, "are you going on a trip? Go on, then. I'll take good care of Mr. Hayes. Don't you worry."

I let out a low, bitter laugh and turned to Julian. "Well, look at that. The woman who loves red roses is here. And I'm sure she loves cilantro, too."

I wrenched my hand from his grasp and started for the door.

Amelia blocked my path, her face half-hidden in the shadows of the entryway. Her voice was pitiful, a stark contrast to the smugness on her face. "Zoe, Mr. Hayes told me he accidentally put cilantro in your pasta before he left for Paris. Is that why you're mad at him?"

Her long lashes fluttered, her beautiful eyes feigning an innocent curiosity that was pure mockery. "He probably just got confused because we eat together so often, and I absolutely love cilantro. It's such a small thing. If it's causing problems between you two, I'll apologize, okay? Please don't run away from home to make a point. He works so hard, and your tantrums are just another burden for him. You..."

Her words were cut short by the sharp crack of a slap. Julian rushed forward, pulling me away. "Zoe! What are you doing? This is between us! Why are you taking it out on her?"

I laughed coldly and, in a swift motion, slapped him too. The sound silenced him completely.

I had put all my strength into those slaps. Bright red handprints bloomed on both of their faces.

I met Julian's stunned gaze. "Julian, this house is our shared marital property. Who gave you the right to give an outsider fingerprint access to come and go as she pleases?"

He was taken aback. "Amelia often has to drop off documents for me. It was just for convenience..."

"Amelia? Is that what you call your secretary? How intimate." My laugh was incredulous. "You've been in the business world for years. Don't tell me you couldn't hear the provocation in her tone. I can tolerate the flirting at the office, but to bring it into my home? Julian, have you forgotten that I, Zoe Sterling, don't tolerate bullshit?"

I turned to Amelia, who was clutching her cheek. "You've been his secretary for what, six months? Can't you distinguish between professional and private matters? Or are you just a stray dog looking for a master when you let yourself into other people's homes?"

"Those social media posts you've been making... they're set to 'visible to me only,' aren't they? When you don't know how to write a project proposal, you don't ask the senior staff for help; you bother the CEO, who is busy running a company. You know he's a married man, yet you bring him your 'special homemade lunch' every single day. When you screw up at work, instead of learning from your mistakes, you have him stay up all night with you to fix them. Is this what a 'secretary' does? Does your salary include posting 'The CEO is so amazing!' on your private social media?"

I shook my head, a scornful smile on my face. "What exactly were you showing off just now? That my husband forgot my deadly allergy because of you? Or that your tireless seduction is finally paying off?"

"Zoe! What are you talking about?" Julian's voice was a low growl of disbelief. "How can you twist our relationship like that? She's new. It's my job to mentor her. I helped you the same way when we first met!"

Amelia's eyes were red, her perfectly curled lashes trembling as she let out a soft, choked sob that seemed to echo in the silent room.

Suddenly, I was tired of it all. What was the point of arguing with someone who was pretending to be clueless?

I locked eyes with Julian. "Is this how you 'help' every new employee? Help them so much that you forget your wife of seven years has a severe cilantro allergy and has never, ever liked red roses?"

Julian froze.

I laughed, a sharp, mocking sound, pushed past Amelia, and walked out of the house, my suitcase rolling behind me.

I went to the other apartment I owned, and as soon as I had settled in, my best friend, Chloe, called.

"Zoe, are you really sure about this?" Chloe's voice was anxious. "Did you talk to Julian?"

"I did," I confirmed. "I just moved out. I'm getting settled."

Chloe paused. "Did he agree to the divorce?"

I looked at a framed photo of Julian and me on the table. "No," I said softly. "He probably thinks I'm still just throwing a fit."

"Well, as long as you've made up your mind, I support you. But don't go soft on him when it comes to dividing the assets."

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm not a fool."

After hanging up, I gently touched my flat stomach. In the photo, Julian and I were younger, holding each other close, a perfect, happy couple.

The next moment, I threw the photo in the trash.

I was so emotionally drained that I fell asleep almost immediately.

I woke up the next afternoon to a flood of unread messages, mostly apologies from Julian. I ignored them and scrolled through my social media feed.

Amelia had posted again. A diamond necklace sparkled at her throat as she flashed a peace sign at the camera. Behind her, a tall, handsome figure was slightly blurred, but I could clearly see the suit he was wearing. It was the one I had given Julian for his birthday this year.

The caption read: "The CEO is so sweet! Not only did he not blame me, he even bought me a diamond necklace to make me feel better! Omg, a man like him is one in a million. I have to work harder to be worthy!"

It was so ridiculous I had to laugh. I liked the post and commented, "Is this one 'visible to me only' too?" Then I tossed my phone aside and went to wash up.

While I was washing my face, Julian called. My hands were wet, and I accidentally answered. His voice sounded tired.

"Zoe, what was that supposed to mean? That post was public. What will people at the company think of Amelia now that you've commented like that? I know I was wrong to forget your preferences, and I've apologized. I'll do anything to make it up to you. Can you just stop this?"

I was speechless. I didn't even know where to begin.

"Julian, if you really want to make it up to me, sign the divorce papers. Other than that, I have nothing more to say to you."

I hung up.

I went to my parents' house. Divorce wasn't a small thing, especially in their eyes. I needed to explain.

As I walked in, the aroma of a home-cooked meal filled the air. My nose tingled, and I nearly burst into tears.

"Mom? What smells so good? I haven't had your pot roast in forever. You..."

The smile froze on my face. Julian was sitting at the dining table. My expression darkened.

He sat there, smiling, his usual gentle self, as if he didn't notice the storm clouds on my face. He stood to greet me. "Zoe, come on in. Mom made your favorite pot roast and chicken noodle soup."

I slapped his hand away as he reached for mine. "Who let you in?"

My dad scolded me. "What's with the attitude? Julian is the only one who can put up with your temper!"

He came over and pushed me toward the table. "Every couple has their disagreements. It's no big deal. Julian is so good to you, and you're just being difficult."

My head was spinning. It was always like this. Julian was charming and kind, always gentle with me. My parents adored him. He knew they would take his side and talk me down. That's why he was here, effortlessly painting me as the unreasonable one.

The seemingly harmless, gentle man was, in fact, toxic.

"Last dish is ready!" my mom announced, placing a steaming bowl on the table. "You silly girl. Every marriage has its bumps. Julian has already apologized. Stop pouting. We've spoiled you rotten!"

I looked at my aging parents, their hair graying at the temples, their faces a mixture of concern and gentle reproach. They loved me very much; I knew that.

Forget it. My plan was already in motion. It would all be over soon. There was no need to hide it anymore.

I tapped the table gently. "Mom, Dad. I'm divorcing Julian."