The Woman Who Always Got the Fish Head

I'd spent a lifetime eating fish heads. My son actually believed I loved the damn things all bones, no meat.

Every time the family sat down to a nice dinner, they'd pick through the tender fish flesh together, then shove the bony scraps and the head across the table to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Mom, this is your favorite part. It's all yours."

Watching my husband and son wear those smug, unbothered expressions, I suddenly thought: I can't keep doing this to myself.

So this time, I tipped the fish head into the trash.

Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and ordered sashimi delivery.

When it arrived, I looked at my two stunned men and smiled, dabbing my mouth with a napkin.

"That little blessing is all yours from now on, boys."

This family whoever wants to wait on the others can knock themselves out. I'm done.

They both stared as I dumped the fish head in the trash.

My husband, Gary, frowned and froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

"What the hell's gotten into you now?"

"That fish cost over thirty bucks. You're just throwing it away?"

My son, Marcus, rolled his eyes and flipped his phone face-down on the table.

"Mom, is it that time again? The mood swings?"

"If you want attention, at least come up with something new."

In the old days, I would have fished it out of the trash and rinsed it off. No matter how hurt I felt, I'd have laughed it off "Oops, slipped right out of my hands" then snuck into the kitchen to cry where no one could see.

But today, I just wiped my mouth and looked at my sashimi.

I'd bought it with my own money. Money I'd quietly set aside for myself.

For the first time, I hadn't saved a single bite for them.

"Buy your own fish heads from now on," I said.

"And if you want what's in that trash can, help yourself."

I didn't wait for a response. I walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind me.

Bang.

Through the door, I heard Gary's lowered voice.

"Ignore her. She's just bored."

"Give her a couple days with nobody fussing over her and she'll come crawling back."

"Seriously, Dad, don't baby her."

"I've got an interview tomorrow. I'm not dealing with her drama."

I stood with my back pressed against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor.

A cramp twisted through my stomach.

With trembling hands, I reached into the back of the nightstand drawer and pulled out an unlabeled pill bottle.

I shook out two pills and swallowed them dry.

The bitterness spread down my throat.

That night, I didn't go out to make peace the way I always had before.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of Gary ransacking the apartment.

"Laura! Where's my blue dress shirt? Why didn't you iron it last night?"

"Mom! Where's my phone charger? Did you move it when you cleaned?"

I lay in bed and listened to every word. I didn't move. I didn't even open my eyes.

I used to have breakfast ready by now, shirt ironed and laid out flat. I would have even put the toothpaste on their toothbrushes.

But this morning, I just watched the light come through the window.

After a good while of banging around, the front door slammed. The two of them left cursing under their breath.

I got up and walked to the window. Down on the street, I watched them stop at the breakfast place on the corner and buy buns and juice.

That greasy little diner with its thick dough and stingy fillings they used to love it.

I remembered the day I was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. I'd been watching them walk into that same diner.

I had just come from the hospital. I was clutching the papers, my mind completely blank.

I went home hoping for something some comfort, some warmth. Instead I saw them through the window, laughing over breakfast.

Marcus had just landed a job at his dream company. Gary had gotten a promotion.

The two of them were celebrating.

Through the glass, I watched Gary pick the meat out of his bun and put it on Marcus's plate.

And I stood on the sidewalk, holding those papers in both hands, watching them.

My phone buzzed, pulling me back.

It was a notification. I opened it.

Marcus had posted on Instagram.

The photo was a stray cat on the side of the road.

"Living with a drama queen is exhausting."

"Woke up to attitude this morning for absolutely no reason."

Gary had liked it. A few relatives had commented.

"Women just can't be spoiled give them an inch and they take a mile."

"Probably just hormones. Ride it out, she'll be fine."

I read every word and felt nothing. No anger. If anything, I almost laughed.

I liked the post from my secondary account, then saved a screenshot.

It would probably be the last time I checked in on them.

That evening they came home from work and dropped two takeout containers on the coffee table without breaking stride.

Gary loosened his tie as he talked.

"Alright, enough of the attitude."

"Brought you some braised pork your favorite. Still warm."

I opened the boxes. A few pieces of meat. Half a container of leftover rice.

These were clearly what they hadn't finished at some dinner out.

And they'd brought it home like they were doing me a favor.

Old me would have reheated those leftovers and eaten them for lunch the next day.

But instead, I picked up both containers, walked to the front door in full view of them, and dropped everything containers and all straight into the hallway trash.

"Leftovers belong in the trash. Simple as that."

Gary's face went red. His pointing finger was shaking.

"Laura! Have you lost your mind?"

"If you want out, just say so. Stop playing these little games!"

I looked at him, and I let the corner of my mouth curl.

"You're right. I do want out."

"I don't want any of this. Not for one more day."

My throwing out the food must have actually rattled them, because the next two days were quiet.

Gary seemed to realize this was different from my usual complaints. He softened a little.

On the third evening, he came home carrying a gift box.

"Honey, I was out of line this past week. Work's been brutal."

"Don't take it to heart."

He set the box on the table and slid it toward me.

"Had a buddy track this down. Latest model. A peace offering."

Looking at that ribbon-tied box, I felt something stir inside me.

All these years, he had never once given me a real gift. He couldn't even remember our anniversary.

Was this it? In what might be the last chapter of my life, had he finally changed? Had he finally learned to care?

My hands trembled as I pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid.

Maybe a scarf. Or perfume.

But when I saw what was inside, my fingertips went cold.

A blender. A high-end one, gleaming under the light.

Gary was already explaining its features.

"High-powered motor. Perfect for smoothies, soups. Doesn't even leave chunks."

"Make our morning routine so much easier."

"And you can make Marcus fresh juice."

Of course.

This was his peace offering. This was him caring about me.

It was just a way to make me this machine he lived with run more efficiently.

I stared at that blender, and then I started laughing. And then I started crying.

Gary watched me with unease, brows pinched.

"What's funny? You don't like it?"

"Like it? Why wouldn't I like it?"

I wiped my eyes and pushed the blender back into his arms.

"But it's way too nice for someone like me."

"A worn-out housewife who only knows how to cook? I don't deserve it."

"Why don't you save it for that new intern at your office."

Gary's expression collapsed. He jumped to his feet.

"What are you talking about?! There is nothing going on between me and Lily nothing!"

"Stop making things up!"

Honestly, I didn't know any Lily. I was fishing.

But the way he reacted told me my instincts were right.

Not that it surprised me. A woman who was aging and always sick I'd stopped being interesting to him a long time ago.

Gary shoved the blender onto the couch, ego bruised.

"You're unbelievable."

"Sitting at home all day has scrambled your brain!"

He grabbed his jacket and slammed out the door, leaving behind nothing but silence.

Not long after, Marcus came home lugging a dry-cleaning bag with his interview suit.

He didn't ask why the apartment felt like a cold front had moved in.

Didn't ask what happened between me and his dad.

First words out of his mouth: "Mom, where's my white dress shirt? I need it for my second-round interview tomorrow."

I sat on the couch without moving, the unlabeled pill bottle in my hand.

"In the laundry hamper."

My voice was flat.

Marcus stared at me like I'd said something absurd.

"In the hamper? Mom, you know that shirt can't go in the machine. It needs to be hand-washed!"

"My interview is first thing tomorrow. If you don't wash it tonight, you expect me to show up in a dirty shirt?"

He was scolding me.

I looked up at my son this boy I had spent twenty-four years protecting from every sharp edge in the world and felt my heart split open.

"You have two working hands. You're twenty-four years old."

"You can't wash one shirt?"

"It's your interview, not mine."

"If you want clean clothes, wash them yourself."

Marcus grabbed his bag off the floor and hurled it down again, pointing at me.

"Mom, are you seriously losing it?"

"You've been making everyone's lives hell for two days straight isn't that enough?"

"It's one shirt. One. Why does everything have to be such a big deal with you?"

Something turned over in my stomach, and a hot, metallic taste rose in my throat.

I didn't want him to see me fall apart. I pressed my hand over my mouth and lurched into the bathroom.

I locked the door.

Blood slipped between my fingers and dripped into the white sink basin.

I turned on the tap and watched the red rinse away.

Marcus knocked on the door from the other side.

"Mom, what are you hiding in there? Don't think you can just disappear and get out of this!"

"Hurry up! I need to shower! I swear, you are unreal!"

I looked at myself in the mirror. There was still blood at the corner of my mouth.

Tears and water ran down my face together. I wiped away the blood.

They can't know. They can't know I'm dying.

If they knew, I'd just become a heavier burden to carry. I wouldn't even be allowed to die in peace.

I took the folded papers from under my pillow the diagnosis and slipped them inside an old book on the shelf. One of the fairy tale books Marcus had loved as a little boy. He hadn't touched it in fifteen years.

Then I started packing.

The inexpensive jewelry. The pair of gold earrings from our wedding day.

I put them all in a bag.

Tomorrow I'd sell them. The money would go to a children's charity or I'd simply throw it all away.

Either way, I wasn't leaving a single cent to these two.

I suppose Gary and Marcus finally decided I was too much trouble to push around, because on Friday night, Marcus came home with a girl.

"Mom, this is Sophie. My girlfriend."

He was wearing a proud little grin.

Sophie looked nervous and gave me a polite smile.

Before I could react, Marcus had already steered her to the couch, then leaned down and murmured in my ear:

"Mom, this is her first time here. Don't embarrass me."

"Make the braised fish, the sweet and sour ribs all your good stuff."

"I want to impress her."

He knew I'd been sick for days. That I could barely stand up straight.

But for his pride, for the image he wanted to project, he didn't care what it cost me.

"I'm not feeling well. Just order in tonight."

I leaned against the wall, too weak to stand on my own.

Marcus's face hardened. He dropped his voice to a tight, controlled hiss.

"Mom. Can you read the room?"

"You're pulling this right now? On purpose?"

"I'm asking you. Just this once. Please."

"Don't make me look bad in front of Sophie."

I looked at his face, and despite everything, something in me softened.

Maybe that's the curse of being a mother. Still crawling back, even at the edge of everything.

I forced myself through the pain to the grocery store. The smell of raw fish hit me so hard I nearly vomited on the spot.

Back in the kitchen, I worked through the haze. My vision kept blurring. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the knife.

The blade slipped and caught my left index finger. Blood welled up immediately.

It dripped onto the cutting board and mixed with the fish.

Gary walked in just then to grab a beer from the fridge. He glanced at my bleeding hand without stopping.

"How can you be so careless?"

"Run it under water. And don't get blood in the food. That's disgusting."

I put on a bandage and kept cooking.

Eventually, the meal was done.

I carried a pot of fish soup out to the table.

My stomach seized without warning. My vision went black at the edges. My knees buckled.

The pot slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a crash.

Scalding soup flooded across the tiles, splashing up onto Sophie's dress.

She screamed and jumped back from the table.

The whole room smelled like fish.

Marcus leapt up and shoved me hard.

"Mom! What is wrong with you? You did that on purpose!"

The push sent me stumbling backward into the sideboard. Pain cracked through my lower back. But I had nothing left I could only slump against it, gasping.

"If you didn't want to cook, you didn't have to! Who are you trying to gross out?"

Marcus shouted, his eyes red.

Sophie looked at my face whatever color had drained from it and seemed to hesitate. She touched Marcus's arm.

"She didn't mean to I think she just lost her grip"

"Lost her grip! She's just mad I brought you home!"

Gary stepped in from the side.

He tossed a pack of tissues to Sophie for her dress and didn't look at me once.

"I spoiled her rotten. Gets worse every year. Just ignore her."

Father and son flanked Sophie on either side, sheltering her from the drama.

"Come on, Sophie. Dinner's ruined. Let's go out."

Marcus grabbed his keys, and without a backward glance, walked out the door with his girlfriend and his father.

The door slammed shut. The noise went with them.

The apartment was quiet now, except for the mess on the floor. The overturned pot. The fish head lying in the spilled soup.

I slid down slowly until I was sitting on the floor beside it, in that spreading puddle going cold.

I picked up a piece of fish dusty, soaked and put it in my mouth.

The piece they always fought over.

I chewed it and tasted nothing.

Only bitterness. And that thick, clinging, nauseating smell.

So this was the family I had given my life to.

This was the love I had nearly destroyed myself to protect.