Drink More Hot Water

Returning from a business trip, I casually grabbed the smart kettle on the kitchen counter to pour myself a glass of water. A second later, I froze.

The water was ice cold.

Victoria and I had been married for three years. She was a militant health fanatic, imposing draconian rules on both herself and me. Our smart kettle was programmed to sit at exactly 99.5 degrees, every single minute of every single day.

Once, I accidentally bumped the temperature down a single degree. She lectured me for four agonizing hours.

Our house contained absolutely nothing but purified water. Sugar was poison. Even an extra drop of olive oil in a pan was a sin. She had severe OCD and a terrifying need for order, demanding that everything in our lives remain under her absolute control.

My heart skipped a beat. I pulled open the refrigerator door.

Dozens of plastic cups filled with ice packed the top shelf. Below them sat rows of Coca-Cola and Red Bull.

At that exact moment, Victorias voice echoed in my head.

"Bennett, drinking ice water is a slow suicide."

"Those processed garbage drinks will only accelerate your body's decay."

I stood paralyzed.

It seemed our marriage finally had a third person. A person who made her break every single one of her golden rules.

I stood in the entryway with my suitcase.

The house was dead silent. I could hear my own heartbeat thumping against my ribs.

A faint, unfamiliar scent of men's cologne lingered in the air.

Victorias obsession with the water temperature bordered on psychotic. She even had an app on her phone to monitor the smart kettle remotely.

Once, when I accidentally tapped the minus button and dropped it to 98 degrees, she came home from work and stared at me with pure disappointment.

"Bennett, I have told you a thousand times. Only water at exactly 99.5 degrees can maintain your body's internal homeostasis."

"Every time you break this rule, you are treating your own health like a joke."

Yet right now, the water in the kettle was completely cold.

I took a deep breath, trying to convince myself that the kettle was just broken.

I let go of my suitcase. My hand moved on its own, pulling the refrigerator door open again.

A blast of cold air hit my face, freezing the blood in my veins.

The fridge, usually strictly organized with farmers market organics, cage-free eggs, and lean cuts of meat, had been aggressively cleared out.

Taking up a massive chunk of space were the ice cups and the sugary, carbonated energy drinks.

My head spun. Victorias cold reprimands played on a loop in my mind.

"Bennett, no more than three grams of sodium a day."

"You must measure the olive oil. Not a single drop over five grams per dish."

"The fat content in this cut of beef exceeds the limit by half a percent. Throw it out."

"All outside food is garbage pumped full of chemicals and preservatives. Do you have a death wish?"

So who was going to tell me where all of this junk came from?

Who was the man that made the rigidly principled Victoria tolerate all of this?

My throat went entirely dry. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice, the pain making it impossible to breathe.

I slammed the fridge door shut, desperately trying to calm down.

I pulled out my phone, ready to call her and demand to know what was going on.

Right at that second, the electronic lock on the front door beeped.

Victoria was home.

"You're back early?"

She looked slightly surprised to see me, but quickly masked it with her usual aloof, clinical expression.

"Yeah, the project wrapped up ahead of schedule."

Her eyes scanned the living room as if inspecting a crime scene, finally landing on me. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows twitched in slight annoyance.

"Why are the lights off? Don't you know sitting in the dark degrades your vision?"

She slipped off her heels and walked straight into the kitchen, naturally reaching for the kettle to pour a glass of water.

When she saw the digital temperature display, her hand visibly jerked.

A split second later, she placed the kettle back onto the heating pad as if nothing had happened.

My heart sank even further.

She saw it.

But she didn't say a word.

"Victoria."

I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Yes?" she replied, not even turning around as she poured a glass of cold water.

"Is the kettle broken?"

The air in the kitchen instantly solidified.

I could practically see her spine stiffen.

After a long pause, she finally spoke, her tone flat.

"Probably."

But there was a microscopic tremor of panic in her voice.

"The clinic has been busy lately. I haven't been paying attention."

With that, she took a sip of the cold water and practically fled toward the master bedroom.

I stood rooted to the floor, staring at her retreating back, a deep chill crawling up my legs.

She was lying.

Because just seconds ago, when she walked past me, I had clearly smelled that exact same unfamiliar men's cologne on her clothes.

Over the next few days, Victoria became suspiciously busy.

She claimed she had to work overtime every single night, coming home incredibly late and looking utterly exhausted.

She spoke to me even less. Most of our interactions were reduced to a simple hello and goodbye.

The smart kettle magically returned to its permanent 99.5 degrees.

The Coke and the ice cups in the fridge completely vanished without a trace.

Everything seemed to revert to normal, almost as if that afternoon had just been a paranoid hallucination.

But I knew the truth.

Some things, once cracked, can never be put back together.

Like trust.

Tonight, she texted me again saying there was an emergency surgery at the hospital and she wouldn't be home for dinner.

Driven by a dark, undeniable impulse, I changed my clothes, grabbed my car keys, and left the apartment.

I parked across the street from the hospital, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette.

I had quit smoking three years ago.

The first drag burned my lungs.

Through the curling smoke, I watched the hospital entrance.

I waited for hours. I waited until the cigarette burned down to the filter, yet I still hadn't seen Victoria.

I let out a self-deprecating laugh. Maybe I really was just being paranoid.

I reached for the ignition, ready to drive home, when a familiar figure suddenly walked into my line of sight.

She had taken off her white lab coat and was wearing a beige trench coat, walking shoulder to shoulder with a young man.

I recognized him. He was the new surgical assistant in her department. His name was Felix.

He was boyish, wearing thick black framed glasses, looking every bit the innocent scholar. When he smiled, deep dimples showed on his cheeks.

Victoria tilted her head to listen to him, a remarkably soft smile blooming on her face.

It was a smile full of genuine, unfiltered affection. A look I had never once received from her.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

I followed them as they turned into a narrow alley beside the hospital.

The alley was a famous local night market, packed shoulder to shoulder with noisy crowds and greasy food trucks.

I parked the car and quietly trailed them on foot.

The alley was deafening, the air thick with heavy cooking oil and the rich scent of spices.

I spotted them immediately.

They stopped in front of a food truck selling deep fried skewers.

Felix was grinning enthusiastically, pointing at the rows of greasy meat and vegetables on the grill.

My feet felt like they were nailed to the pavement.

I vividly remembered the year we started dating. I had eagerly brought her to this exact same alley.

I had said, "Victoria, let's try this. It looks amazing."

She had frowned, covering her nose and mouth with a tissue, looking at the grill with absolute disgust.

"Bennett, do you have any idea where that meat comes from? Do you know how many times that oil has been reused?"

"Every single bite is packed with carcinogens."

"I will never eat garbage like this, and I expect you to never bring me to a place like this ever again."

Her words had been a bucket of ice water, completely extinguishing my excitement.

From that day on, I never suggested eating street food again.

But right now, she was standing there, watching Felix order a massive pile of glistening, oil soaked BBQ skewers.

The vendor handed the food to Felix. He grabbed a giant grilled squid and offered it to Victoria like a prized trophy.

"Try this! It's so good!"

The squid was dripping with a thick, heavy sauce.

I fully expected Victoria to reject him without a second thought, just like she had rejected me.

But under Felix's expectant gaze, she actually opened her mouth and took a massive bite.

"It really is."

She smiled as she swallowed it.

A bomb went off in my skull.

I felt my entire world violently collapse.

Seeing her eat it, Felix smiled so hard his eyes crinkled.

He naturally reached out with a napkin and gently wiped a smear of sauce from the corner of her lips.

And Victoria didn't pull away.

I remembered what happened just two nights ago. I was cooking a simple stir fry, and my hand slipped, pouring a fraction of an ounce too much olive oil into the pan.

She took one bite, spat it into a napkin, and dumped the entire plate of food straight into the trash.

She had stared at me with eyes made of ice.

"Bennett, how many times do I have to tell you? Fat intake must be strictly monitored."

"Do you just ignore everything I say?"

"Look at that plate. Are you actively trying to give me high cholesterol?"

I had stammered, apologizing over and over again.

Looking back now, it was utterly pathetic.

She was perfectly willing to swallow greasy street food for another man.

Yet she verbally abused me over a single drop of clean olive oil.

It turns out her precious rules and health standards were strictly reserved for the people she didn't love.

I have no memory of how I drove back to the apartment.

The image of Victoria smiling as she ate that grilled squid played on a torturous loop in my brain.

At eleven o'clock, Victoria finally came home.

She pushed the door open and paused when she saw the pitch black living room.

"Why are the lights off again?"

She flipped the switch. The blinding light made me flinch.

She took off her shoes and walked closer. She smelled faintly of charcoal smoke, completely intertwined with that unfamiliar men's cologne.

"You're still awake?"

She sat down on the single armchair, as far away from me as possible.

"I was waiting for you."

She avoided my gaze, picking up a glass of water from the table.

"I told you I had surgery. You didn't need to wait."

I let out a bitter, raspy laugh.

"Did the surgery go well?"

"It was fine."

She gave a vague answer, her eyes shifting nervously.

I sat up straight and stared directly into her eyes.

"You must be exhausted. I hear the grilled squid in the alley next to the hospital is pretty good. Spicy and rich. Do you want me to bring you some next time?"

The second the words left my mouth, Victoria's face drained of all color.

The hand holding her glass trembled violently.

"Bennett, what exactly are you implying?"

Her eyes sharpened into a defensive glare, practically warning me to back off.

"I'm not implying anything."

I leaned back against the couch, feeling as if every ounce of energy had been drained from my bones.

"Just thought you might want something heavy for a change. Eating clean and bland all the time gets pretty boring."

"Are you tracking me?"

She finally asked the question I had been waiting for.

She stood up abruptly.

"Why are you acting so passive aggressive? Do we not even have basic trust between us anymore?"

Trust?

My heart violently seized.

From the exact moment she let another man shatter all her golden rules, trust was the first thing in this house to die.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Refusing to look at me again, she practically sprinted to the master bedroom and slammed the door shut.

I sat in the dark living room until the sun came up.

The next morning, she woke up early as usual to get ready for work.

We didn't say a single word to each other.

Just as she was about to walk out the door, I called out to her.

"Victoria, next Wednesday is our third anniversary."

Her back stiffened.

"I remember."

"I booked a table at the restaurant where we had our first date."

She remained silent for a few seconds before turning around, a perfectly crafted look of apology on her face.

"I'm sorry, Bennett. The hospital scheduled a mandatory medical seminar that night. I won't be able to make it."

"Is that so? What a shame."

I replied with a dead, calm voice, while my heart bled out in my chest.

Over the next few days, that assistant named Felix began intruding into my life in the most arrogant ways.

One afternoon, I received a local courier package. I opened it to find a massive box of spicy junk food and a handwritten note.

"Vicky, you said you loved the snacks I gave you last time, so I bought you a whole box!"

Staring at that note felt like taking a baseball bat straight to the jaw.

When Victoria got home that night, I tossed the box of junk food and the note onto the table right in front of her.

"Did your assistant send this?"

She glanced at it, her expression entirely neutral. "Oh, Felix is just a kid. He means well. Don't overthink it."

I laughed in pure disbelief. "Don't you despise processed food? But when he sends it, suddenly it's fine?"

"Bennett, can you stop being so incredibly sensitive?"

Her eyebrows knitted together, her face radiating absolute impatience.

"Felix is young. He's practically a kid fresh out of med school. I can't believe you're actually jealous of him. You're a grown man, why are you picking fights over a child?"

There it was again.

She defended him at every turn.

Every single fault in our marriage was always blamed on my sensitivity and my paranoia.

I looked at her, suddenly realizing I was looking at a complete stranger.

It was true. Principles were only weapons used against the people you didn't love.

The day of our anniversary arrived.

Just as she promised, she left the apartment early in the morning.

I sat alone in the empty, quiet house, looking at the elaborate gifts I had prepared for her, feeling like an absolute clown.

As the sun began to set, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from a mutual friend, containing a screenshot.

It was Felix's social media post.

In the photo, Felix and Victoria were wearing overalls and rubber boots, standing in the middle of a muddy field, smiling radiantly.