His Fishing Ruined Us

For three years, my husband spent every weekend night fishing with his female coworker.

Id screamed. Id smashed things. Hed just looked at me, his voice dripping with righteousness. Were just fishing. Do you have to act like a complete psycho?

He was even baiting her fishing spot the day I miscarried.

All he said was, Theres nothing going on between us. Youre disgusting.

In the fourth year, I stopped checking up on him. I started leaving early and coming home late, wearing a new, expensive perfume every day.

At first, he sneered. Playing the independent woman now? This is just another one of your games, isn't it?

But then he came home late one night, fishing gear in hand, to a house stripped bare, even the furniture gone. Thats when he finally panicked.

When he called, his voice was trembling. Where the hell are you in the middle of the night?

Listening to his impotent rage, I replied, my voice a lazy drawl.

So, it's okay for you to go fishing with your coworker, but I can't go hunting with someone else?

01

My hand was still shaking after I signed the consent form.

The doctor glanced at me, her voice flat.

Wheres your family?

Hes busy.

Then youll have to go in alone.

The cold metal slid inside me, and my body seized with a pain so sharp it stole my breath.

As my consciousness faded, I found myself back three years ago, on that first weekend.

Mark was heading out the door, carrying his tackle box for the first time.

Where are you going?

Company thing. A few of us are going fishing at the reservoir.

I didnt think anything of it. I even packed sunscreen and lunch for him.

He came back beaming, showing me pictures. In a large group of people, a girl named Tiffany stood next to him, her smile brilliant.

Soon, the company outing became a weekly event.

Then, the large group dwindled, until it was just him and Tiffany.

Every weekend, from Friday night until the early hours of Sunday morning.

A knot of unease started to form in my stomach.

Why is it always her?

Shes the only other one whos into fishing. Were just friends, what are you thinking?

Then I saw the post on Tiffany's Instagram.

Thanks to my best bud Mark for another great catch! The night breeze by the lake is amazing.

It was a nine-photo grid. Every shot was a profile of Mark, silhouetted against the water, plus a picture of two glowing fishing bobbers floating close together.

I shoved the phone in his face.

He snatched it from my hand and threw it onto the sofa.

What is wrong with you? Were just fishing! Do you have to be so hysterical?

There is nothing going on between us. We have nothing to hide. Cant you get your mind out of the gutter for once?

From that day on, hysterical, disgusting, and crazy became my labels.

I screamed. I smashed his precious fishing gear.

All it got me was colder shoulders and longer absences.

If you keep this up, he warned, were done.

I was scared.

So I learned to swallow it.

I told myself I was being too sensitive, that it was just his hobby.

I even started helping him pack for his night fishing trips. Mosquito repellent, hand warmers, a thermos filled with hot coffee.

The impatience on his face finally began to soften.

See? This is much better. Trust and personal space are the most important things in a marriage.

I clung to those words, fooling myself for another year.

Until I got pregnant.

The doctor said it was a high-risk pregnancy. I needed bed rest, preferably with a family member around.

I clutched Marks sleeve, begging him.

Please, dont go this weekend. Stay home with me.

He frowned.

I already made plans with Tiffany. Shes already reserved the spot. It wouldnt be right to bail.

But the doctor said

The doctors just trying to scare you. Youre not that fragile.

He pried my fingers off his arm.

Look, Ill be back early on Sunday.

And he left.

Saturday afternoon, the cramping started.

A sharp, pulling pain deep in my belly.

I lay in bed, afraid to move, and called him.

The first call went to voicemail.

The second one connected.

Yeah?

He sounded annoyed. I could hear the wind and a womans laughter in the background.

Mark, Im in so much pain please, come home

Pain? How much pain can it be? Youre just freaking yourself out.

Over the line, Tiffanys voice came through, clear as day.

Mark, who is that? Is your wife checking up on you again? You should be nicer to her, you dont want her getting the wrong idea about us.

Her voice was sugary sweet, laced with a giggle.

Marks tone immediately softened when he spoke to her.

Its nothing. You just focus on baiting the spot. The winds picking up, the fish should be biting soon.

Then, his voice turned to ice as he spoke back into the phone.

Im busy! Youre a grown woman. If you dont feel well, go to the hospital. Stop calling me!

Click.

He hung up.

Blood trickled down my thighs, staining the white sheets crimson.

I struggled out of bed and dialed 911.

Lying on the cold operating table, the chill of the anesthesia seeped into my bones.

The doctors face was impassive.

We couldnt save the baby. Three months along. It was a boy.

Your health is poor. It it might be difficult for you to conceive again.

I couldnt cry.

My chest felt like a hollow cavern with an icy wind whistling through it.

I took out my phone and, with the last of my strength, sent Mark a text.

I had a miscarriage.

The screen stayed lit for a long, long time, with no reply.

I dont know how much time passed. Just as I was about to drift off, my phone buzzed.

It wasnt Mark.

It was an update to Tiffanys Instagram story.

A photo of her and Mark by the reservoir, a huge net between them, teeming with writhing fish.

The caption read:

What a haul! The luck is always insane when Im with Mark!

Below it, I saw that Mark had liked the post.

Five minutes ago.

My text message still sat in our chat, unread.

In that moment, staring at the sterile, white light on the ceiling, I started to laugh.

Olivia, you are such a pathetic fool.

These four years have been a joke.

After I was wheeled out of the operating room, a nurse handed me a bill.

You need to go settle this.

I looked at the amount and my head spun.

I didnt have my wallet.

I had no choice but to dial that number I knew by heart one more time.

It rang for a long time before he picked up.

What now?!

The rage in his voice practically burst through the speaker.

Im at the hospital. I dont have enough money, can you

Are you fucking kidding me?! he cut me off. I told you, were fishing! Fishing! Do you not understand English? Its Tiffanys birthday today, were all celebrating! Can you not be such a buzzkill?!

Her birthday? I whispered.

Yes, her birthday! We got a cake, were right by the lake! Do you have to ruin everything right now? Its just money, right? Ill send it to you! Just stop calling me, youre so damn disgusting!

The line went dead again.

A moment later, a notification. A five-hundred-dollar transfer.

With a two-word memo: Shut up.

I stared at those words, and the last bit of warmth drained from my body.

I didn't accept the money.

I used the last of my credit on my phone to pay the bill.

Alone, I braced myself against the wall and slowly walked out of the hospital.

The night air cut against my face like a razor.

I looked up at the moon. It was full and bright.

Mark. Tiffany.

I repeated their names, syllable by syllable.

From this day on, Im no longer the hysterical Olivia who revolves around you.

What you owe me, I will take back. Every last cent, with interest.

02

I sat on a bench outside the hospital all night.

At dawn, I took a cab home.

The house was empty.

On the coffee table sat the thermos and hand warmers Id prepared for him. Next to them, a pile of his dirty clothes.

Everything was exactly as Id left it.

It was as if yesterdays heart-wrenching agony had been nothing but a hallucination.

I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet.

Half of it was mine: simple, elegant clothes.

The other half was his: a collection of outdoor brands, tactical jackets, and fishing gear.

Tucked in the very back was the tuxedo and wedding dress from our wedding day.

I stared at that white gown for a long time.

Then, I picked up my phone and made the first call.

Hey, Sophie? Its me.

Sophie was my best friend, a take-no-prisoners lawyer.

Liv? Whats wrong? You dont sound right.

I had a miscarriage.

Three seconds of silence on the other end, followed by a surge of contained fury.

Where is that bastard Mark?!

Out fishing with his little sister.

Fuck! Sophie swore. Give me his location. Im going to go skin him alive!

Dont, I cut her off, my voice terrifyingly calm. Sophie, I want a divorce.

Sophie was stunned. She knew better than anyone how much I loved Mark.

Are you sure?

Im sure. I looked out at the gray, dreary sky. Ive been sure since yesterday afternoon.

Okay, Sophie snapped into work mode. Dont panic. Dont do anything. Wait for me to get there. Division of assets, evidence of his infidelitywe need a solid plan.

Evidence I gave a bitter laugh. I dont have any.

For four years, Id been a fool, so focused on fighting with him that I never thought to protect myself.

Doesnt matter, Sophies voice was steady. If we dont have direct evidence, well build a chain of circumstantial evidence. Listen to me. From this moment on, you need to become a completely different person.

After the call, I sat on the cold floor and began to think.

Sophie was right.

What I wanted wasn't to stand in a courtroom, crying and begging for a pittance in compensation.

I wanted his life in ruins.

I wanted him to feel a fraction of the pain Id endured for four years.

I wanted him to watch as I personally tore down everything he held dear.

I got up and started moving.

First step: assets.

I opened my laptop and logged into our online banking.

All these years, both our salaries went into a joint account that I managed.

Mark was careless. He never asked about it.

The moneys with you, Im not worried, hed always say.

Looking back, it wasnt that he trusted me. He just didnt care.

I looked at the balance. Seven figures. Our entire life savings, built from nothing.

Without a moments hesitation, I started transferring half of it into a separate account under my mothers name.

Next, I found our stock portfolio.

Mark had bought most of them, bragging about some inside tip that was a sure thing.

I looked at the sea of red on the screen and let out a cold smirk.

Sell. All of it. At market price.

I didn't care about the losses.

Once that was done, I made a second call.

A moving company.

Hello, Id like to schedule a move.

Of course, maam. When would you like to schedule it for? Do you have a lot of items?

Next Saturday. And yes a lot. I looked around the home I had so carefully built. Everything but the floor and the ceiling, I want it all gone.

And especially, a six-foot-tall glass display cabinet.

That cabinet held Marks most prized possessions: his complete set of limited-edition fishing rods and lures.

Every single one of them was more valuable to him than my wedding dress, which was currently stuffed in the back of the closet.

The next week passed in a strange state of calm.

On Sunday afternoon, Mark finally came home.

He carried his empty tackle box, looking exhausted, and brought with him the faint scent of a perfume.

Tiffanys favorite.

He saw me sitting on the couch and froze.

He was probably expecting the usual interrogation, the tears.

Youre back? I even managed a small smile.

He looked uneasy as he set his gear by the wall.

Yeah, Im back.

He was waiting for me to explode.

But I didnt.

I stood up and walked into the kitchen.

You must be hungry. Ill make you some pasta.

He followed me, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Are you okay?

Im fine. I poured the pasta into a bowl, adding a fried egg on top. Why wouldnt I be?

I placed the bowl in front of him.

Eat up. You should get some rest.

He picked up his fork but didnt eat, his gaze fixed on me.

Olivia, what game are you playing now?

I looked up, meeting his eyes with a gentle smile.

No game. Ive just had some time to think.

Think about what?

That trust and personal space are the most important things in a marriage, right? I threw his own words back at him. I was too clingy before, always trying to keep you tied down. I wont be like that anymore. You have your hobbies, and I support you.

Marks expression shifted from wary to confused, and finally, to a look of smug relief.

He thought he had finally tamed me.

He thought I had finally accepted my fate.

He dug into his pasta, eating ravenously.

Thats more like it, he said, his mouth full. If youd just thought like this from the start, we could have avoided so many fights.

Tiffany is always telling me I should spend more time with you, that you must be lonely at home by yourself. I told her you just overthink things.

He rambled on as he ate.

I listened quietly, a perfect smile plastered on my face.

Inside, I was counting down the days.

Enjoy this peace while it lasts, Mark.

The storm is coming.

03

From that day on, I changed.

I stopped checking his phone, stopped asking where he was.

When he went out for his weekend fishing trips, I would even help him clean his gear beforehand and clear out the trunk of the car.

At first, Mark reveled in my 180-degree turn.

He could talk loudly on the phone with Tiffany at home, discussing which reservoir had the best fish.

He could like and comment on her latest Instagram post right in front of me.

He savored the feeling of being in complete control.

And I just smiled and nodded.

Thats nice.

Have fun.

Do you need me to pack anything for you?

A hint of contempt began to creep into his eyes.

He believed I had completely given up.

A pathetic woman who couldnt live without him.

Meanwhile, my own life was quietly transforming.

I threw out all the plain, muted clothes in my closet.

I replaced them with sharp, brightly colored power suits.

I started using the supplementary credit card Mark had given me to buy things I never would have dared to before.

Handbags that cost thousands, perfumes that cost hundreds.

Every morning, Id leave the house wearing a scent he couldnt possibly name, my makeup flawless.

Id come home late.

Sometimes, with the smell of alcohol on my breath.

Mark finally started to notice something was wrong.

That weekend, as he was getting ready to leave, he saw me standing in front of the mirror, putting on earrings with a little black dress.

Youre going out again? he asked, frowning.

Mhm, meeting up with some friends.

Male or female?

I met his gaze in the mirror and smiled.

Mark, we agreed, remember? Mutual trust, personal space.

My words left him speechless, his face turning a dark shade of red.

Dont you dare use my own words against me! Olivia, somethings been off with you lately!

Oh? I turned to face him. Whats off?

Who are you dressing up for? Who are you screwing around with, coming home so late every night?

The suspicion and jealousy in his eyes were practically burning.

I laughed coldly to myself.

He could spend his nights with a female coworker, but he couldn't stand the thought of me having a life of my own.

The hypocrisy was laughable.

Its just a normal social life, I said, picking up my purse. Werent you heading out? If you dont leave soon, youll miss the best spot.

I started to walk past him towards the door.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip shockingly tight.

Stop pretending to be some independent woman! Do you think your measly salary pays for all this? Tell me! Did you find some rich guy to latch onto?

His fingers dug into my wrist, but I didnt flinch. I just looked at him calmly.

Youre hurting me.

My composure only fueled his rage.

Answer my question!

Every penny I spend is clean, I said, enunciating each word. But you, Mark, can you say the same about you and Tiffany?

He reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Why are you bringing her up again? There is nothing going on between us! Youre the one whos disgusting me right now!

There it was again.

That word. Disgusting.

It used to feel like a knife to the heart.

Now, I just felt numb.

My phone rang.

I pulled my arm free and answered.

Hello, Mr. Peterson.

A warm, male voice came from the other end.

Ms. Scott, about that position we discussed, the CEO of the company would like to meet you in person. Are you free sometime tomorrow?

Yes, I said, my voice bubbling with excitement. Of course.

Thats wonderful. Ill send you the restaurant details shortly. This is an incredible opportunity; theyre very serious about bringing you on.

Thank you, Mr. Peterson. Thank you so much.

I hung up, a smile still on my face.

Mark was staring at me, his eyes practically murderous.

Mr. Peterson? Sounds pretty friendly.

Hes a friend.

A friend? he sneered. Or your sugar daddy? Olivia, I underestimated you. Playing hard to get while you were already lining up your next meal ticket?

I didnt bother explaining.

He wouldnt believe me anyway.

In his world, a woman was always dependent on a man.

If I left him, it must be because I had found someone else to cling to.

He couldn't imagine that a woman could build a better life for herself, by herself.

Think whatever you want. I opened the door. Im leaving. Hope you get a great haul tonight.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I heard a loud crash from inside, the sound of something shattering.

I leaned against the door and took a deep breath.

Sophies plan was falling into place.

This Mr. Peterson was a top-tier headhunter she had introduced me to.

I wasnt looking for another man.

I was looking for a job that would let me leave this city for good and start a new life.

A new, glittering future.

And Marks suspicion, his angerit was all playing right into my hands.

The more convinced he was that I had another man, the more completely his world would shatter when the truth finally came out.