Faithless Hearts Are Destined To Die Young

The garbage I asked Eason to take out three days ago was still sitting in the kitchen.

It reeked. Flies buzzed over the rotting plastic in a frantic swarm.

Right then, I knew. We needed a divorce.

That night, I slid the drafted divorce papers across the dining table.

He looked up from his glowing laptop screen. His eyes were dark and piercing, like he was trying to dissect my thoughts.

"The day before yesterday, I was helping Molly fix her data models. She is a junior analyst, and her foundation is weak. I am the only one she could turn to."

"Yesterday, she thought someone was following her on her way home. She called me crying, begging me to give her a ride just this once."

"Today, her data had a massive error just three hours before the executive deadline. She is on my team, Stella. I could not just abandon her."

He paused, letting out a heavy sigh.

"I know you have always had an issue with her. I can give you my phone. I can pull the office security footage to prove we are completely innocent. As for that bag of trash, I genuinely just forgot. I have explained everything. If you still want a divorce after this, fine. I will cooperate."

I looked at him, my heart perfectly still.

In these past three days, he had done so much for Molly. A man who religiously guarded his sleep schedule had stayed up late three nights in a row for her.

Yet, three mornings in a row, he completely forgot to take the trash out on his way out the door.

I gave a slow nod.

"Let us just get the divorce."

I waited at the lawyer's office until the staff clocked out for the day.

Eason never showed up.

When he finally got home, it was almost eleven at night. He saw me sitting in the dark on the living room sofa, did not say a single word, and walked straight into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

"I called you thirteen times," I broke the silence. "You did not answer."

He paused mid sip, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and glanced at it. His face was entirely blank.

"I turned it off for a board meeting today and forgot to turn it back on. Was there an emergency?"

His tone was incredibly casual. Like he was commenting on the weather.

I knew it. He had forgotten our appointment again.

He was always forgetful. In our seven years of marriage, this had happened more times than I could count.

From small things like forgetting to bring the laundry in before a storm, or tossing the garbage on his way downstairs.

To massive, life altering things.

Like when I was three months pregnant.

The ultrasound showed severe fatal complications, and the specialist advised terminating the pregnancy to save my life.

We booked an appointment for the procedure together.

But when the surgery was over and I woke up shivering in the cold recovery room, he still was not there.

I found out later.

That day was Molly's first time leading a project presentation, and she was a nervous wreck. He had promised to stand by her side and be her anchor.

That was the first time I realized my true weight in Eason's heart.

The realization felt like a dull plastic knife dragging across my chest. It hurt, but it would not kill me.

I pulled myself out of the memory and kindly offered an explanation.

"We had an appointment to sign the divorce papers today. Tomorrow is the weekend and they are fully booked, so I rescheduled for Monday morning."

Eason's eyes stayed glued to his glowing phone screen. He did not even look at me.

"Alright. See you there Monday."

I nodded.

Monday arrived.

We signed the papers. In thirty days, the mandatory state cooling off period would end, and we would get the final decree.

After signing his name, Eason kept his head down, his thumbs flying across his screen as he rapidly replied to someone.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of his chat.

A cutesy pink anime profile picture had sent him a long string of crying emojis.

As we stepped out of the building, Eason turned to me.

"I have an emergency at the office. I cannot drop you..."

I nodded and pointed to the Uber I had called in advance.

"My ride is here. Go do what you need to do."

The Uber was parked right next to his sleek Audi. I pulled the door open and slid into the backseat.

I never looked back at the man standing on the sidewalk.

I called my best friend Harper to tell her the news and asked her to help me look for a new apartment.

My hometown was Seattle, thousands of miles away from Chicago. The house I grew up in had been sold years ago to pay for my dad's medical bills.

The luxury condo I lived in now was bought by Eason, strictly under his name.

After the divorce, I had to move out. I had nowhere to go.

Harper was fast. Within hours, she had lined up three potential rentals.

Just as we were about to hop on a FaceTime call for a virtual tour, a text from Eason popped up on my screen.

[Thai basil chicken bowl and a berry smoothie.]

[Come early. I have a meeting at one thirty.]

I stared at the two messages, then calmly swiped them away.

Eason worked brutal corporate hours. He never ate on time, and his diet was absolute garbage.

After he collapsed from severe gastritis and ended up in the emergency room, I took matters into my own hands. I started scouring the internet for gut healing recipes.

Ever since that day, I prepared fresh warm meals and delivered them to his office every single afternoon.

He ate whatever I made. He never complained.

I kept this routine up for three years, and his stomach issues never flared up again.

Half a year ago, he suddenly started requesting specific dishes.

I thought he was just getting bored of the bland food, so I poured my energy into tweaking the recipes to make them tastier.

Until that afternoon.

I saw a text exchange between him and Molly on his iPad.

[Eason! What delicious food is Stella making today?]

[Ugh, steamed veggies again? I do not really like that stuff.]

[Next time, tell Stella not to make steamed food. I want something fried!]

[Stella is so domestic. I do not know how to cook at all. You are so lucky to have her!]

Eason replied:

[You and her are different. Do not put yourself down.]

[You are conquering the corporate world, she cooks at home. There is no comparison.]

[A person has to be good for something, and since she stays home, this is all she can do.]

Seeing those words had broken something inside me.

I confronted him about it. He was slightly surprised I had read his messages, but he was not angry. He just looked at me with this calm, unshakable entitlement.

"Oh. Molly has a weak stomach, she cannot eat takeout all the time. The food you make happens to be perfect for her, and it is nutritious. Why not?"

His light, breezy tone hit me like a sledgehammer, smashing my warm beating heart into bloody pieces.

I spent hours sweating in the kitchen, studying culinary books in every spare moment. The meals I poured my soul into, all my dedication...

It had all become nothing more than casual banter to comfort another woman.

And it was not like I did not work. In my spare time, I took on heavy freelance translation gigs. The foreign language dictionaries I used every single day were sitting right there on the living room bookshelf.

He just never cared enough to notice.

After finalizing a lease on a new apartment, a heavy weight lifted off my shoulders.

Harper declared that since I was moving back to Seattle, she was going to drain my wallet on a massive welcome back dinner.

I gladly agreed.

When Eason finally called, I was dozing off on the sofa.

"Stella, did you not see my texts?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing myself awake.

"I saw them. What is it?"

The man on the other end of the line fell silent.

A moment later, I heard him say, "I have not eaten yet."

"You can order something on UberEats."

"Do you not hate it when I eat takeout?"

His tone was genuinely, utterly baffled.

I let out a tired sigh, speaking from the absolute bottom of my heart.

"Cooking for you was never an obligation. I did it because it broke my heart to see you in pain. I volunteered to do it."

"But Eason. We signed the divorce papers a week ago."

After Eason hung up, I retreated to the guest bedroom and slept straight through until dusk.

The moment I walked out of the room, the front door swung open. Molly was holding Eason up, helping him hobble inside.

The fabric around his knee was torn. He must have taken a bad fall.

Molly trailed right behind him, her eyes rimmed red, fussing over him with frantic, exaggerated worry.

"Eason, slow down! Your leg is hurt!"

The second she spotted me, she puffed out her cheeks, immediately playing the role of the innocent tattletale.

"Stella, you need to talk some sense into him! We had a client dinner today, and the client insisted I take a tequila shot. Eason absolutely refused to let me drink it. When we were leaving, the client purposely bumped into him, and he fell down the stairs and cut his leg!"

"It is just one drink, it is not like I cannot handle it. Why did he have to play the hero?"

She was asking me to talk some sense into him, but the smug, triumphant curve of her lips was painfully obvious. Her fake concern was sickeningly transparent.

So I did not say a single word. I gave a brief nod, turned around, and walked right back toward my room.

I had lived in this house for five years. I had a lot of packing to do.

Molly's giggles drifted through the living room, punctuated by Eason's low voice.

A little while later, there was a knock on my door. I pulled it open.

Eason was leaning heavily against the doorframe for balance.

"Where is the first aid kit?"

He pulled up his pant leg, revealing an ugly, bleeding scrape.

I glanced at it, then looked back up at him, genuinely confused.

"The first aid kit? Did you not give it to Molly?"

Three months ago, Molly bought a Vespa, claiming it would make her commute easier.

On her very first day riding it, she crashed.

Eason got the hysterical phone call, abandoned me in the middle of my birthday dinner, and rushed to her side.

Sometime later, I accidentally burned my hand on the stove.

I could not find the medical box anywhere. I called Eason, but Molly answered his phone.

"The first aid kit? Oh, Stella, I wiped out on my scooter, so Eason brought the kit over to my place! Can you bear the pain for a bit? I will have him bring it back tonight."

Now, standing in the doorway, a flicker of emotion finally cracked through Eason's perpetually composed face.

He clearly remembered.

"I forgot."

I smiled, nodding in total agreement.

"You really do have a terrible memory."

On that day, after Molly answered the phone, I had been furious.

When Eason finally came home, I demanded to know why he was giving our household items away to another woman.

He had not even looked at me. His eyes were glued to his laptop screen, his fingers typing away as he dismissed me.

"It is just a first aid kit. It sits in the cabinet all year and nobody uses it. I gave it to her, so what?"

But that medical box... every single month, I checked the expiration dates. I restocked the bandages, the burn ointments, the painkillers.

Every single item in there was carefully curated by me, a physical manifestation of my devotion to keeping our home safe.

And he handed it over to someone else without a second thought.

Just like the meals I poured my heart into. With a wave of his hand, they became another woman's lunch.

I looked at his bleeding leg and offered a helpful reminder.

"You can get first aid supplies delivered on DoorDash. If there is nothing else, I have packing to do."

With that, I shut the door, completely ignoring the man standing on the other side.

Eason stared blankly at the closed wood. A sudden, hollow emptiness bloomed in his chest.

The days bled together.

The boxes I packed were shipped off to Seattle, one by one.

This luxury apartment gradually grew barren. The memories practically draining out of the walls.

I thought the last few days would pass in quiet peace.

But Eason suddenly changed. He became domestic.

A workaholic who basically lived at the office, he suddenly started coming home right at five.

A man who never once cared about my needs began buying me breakfast and bringing home late night snacks.

Utterly baffled, I asked him what he was playing at.

For the first time in his life, Eason seemed at a loss for words. It took him a long moment to reply.

"My mom called. She wants to have a family dinner. Asked us to come over."

I hesitated, but eventually agreed.

My own parents passed away when I was young. Marrying Eason was the first time I got to experience the warmth of parental love again.

Since we were getting a divorce, it was only right to see them one last time.

It was drizzling the day we went to the restaurant.

His parents had already ordered, the table entirely covered in my favorite dishes.

Eason's mother used serving tongs to place a tender piece of roast duck onto my plate, chatting happily about the neighbor's daughter having her second baby.

Then, seamlessly, the topic shifted to me.

"When are you two going to start thinking about having a baby? You should do it while your father and I still have the energy to help you babysit."

In the past, I would have smiled and graciously said we were not in a rush.

But this time, I did not say a word. I kept my head down and ate the piece of meat sitting on top of my rice.

A heavy, awkward silence descended over the table for ten agonizing seconds. His parents exchanged worried glances.

Eason reached over and firmly grabbed my left hand. His voice was steady.

"Soon."

His parents beamed.

I quietly slipped my hand out of his grip.

Eason was already staring at his phone, completely unbothered.

After dinner, his mom pulled me aside to chat.

Next to us, Eason's phone rang three times in a row. He ignored it.

The older woman gently kicked her son's shin.

"Turn that on silent! Stella cannot even hear me."

Eason glanced at me.

"Emergency at work. I need to take this."

By the time the plates were cleared, Eason still had not come back.

I called him. No answer.

His parents called him. Still nothing.

Looking out the window at the torrential rain pouring down outside, my mind drifted back to a day exactly like this.

I had been walking past his office building when a sudden downpour hit. I could not get an Uber no matter how hard I tried.

I waited until Eason clocked out and gave him a call.

The second the line connected, I saw a familiar car pull up to the intersection right in front of me.

Eason was behind the wheel. Molly was in the passenger seat.

Over the phone, Eason asked what I needed.

I told him it was pouring, and since I was not far, could he come pick me up?

He replied, "Just wait a bit and call a cab. I am still at the office, pulling overtime."

The exact moment he said that, the girl in the passenger seat reached over, offering him a potato chip.

He covered the phone's mouthpiece, turned his head to decline, but eventually gave in and took a bite.

He lied so flawlessly, so naturally, I actually thought I had identified the wrong car.

I spent weeks torturing myself over that memory.

But eventually, I figured it out.

He did not love me, so he did not care.

Just like he hated eating junk food, but he would never reject a chip offered by her fingers.

Just like he hated eating cold food, but if my handmade noodles got soggy, he would not even touch them.

The rain stopped.

I hailed a cab and escorted his elderly parents back to their house.

In the dead of night, I heard Eason come home.

He was on the phone, his voice loud enough to echo.

Through the thin drywall, I heard him let out an exasperated, affectionate sigh.

"Molly."

When I woke up the next morning, I had a dozen missed calls from Molly.

My notifications were flooded with her texts.

[Stella, Eason and I have not crossed any boundaries! Please tell him not to transfer me to another department!]

[He said you misunderstood and that you are divorcing him over it. I swear it was not on purpose! I will keep my distance from now on, just please do not make him kick me out!]

I stared at the messages in utter bewilderment.

I did not reply. I just placed my phone face down on the desk.

I was packing the last few items of clothing left in the guest bedroom when Eason kicked the door open. He sounded frantic.

"Stella, what did you say to Molly?"

"She texted me saying she needed to explain everything to you, and now she is missing! I cannot reach her anywhere! What the hell did you say to her?!"

His chest was heaving, his eyes burning into mine.

Eason was a stoic, emotionally stunted man. He rarely ever lost his temper like this.

But here he was, completely unraveled. Over another woman.

I picked up my phone, opened Molly's chat, and shoved the screen into his face.

"I have no idea what kind of drama you two cooked up last night to drag me into this."

"When she sent those messages, I was asleep. And quite frankly, I do not feel obligated to reply to her anyway."

Eason opened his mouth to argue, but his phone started ringing.

The moment he saw the caller ID, his furious expression melted into sheer panic, then relief.

"Just come back first. We can talk about everything else later."

"The guys your parents are trying to set you up with are garbage. Come back to Chicago!"

"Then stay with us!"

"It is a huge apartment. It is just me and Stella."

He shot me a pointed look as he said that, then hit the speakerphone button and held it out between us.

Molly's loud, tear choked voice filled the room.

"Stella, I am so sorry, I hate to be a burden."

"I already broke my lease to move back to my hometown, but Eason insists I come back. I cannot find an apartment on such short notice... can I crash with you guys for a little while?"

"I swear I will move out the second I find a place. Please."

I met Eason's deeply demanding stare. My fingertips felt ice cold, but a dark, hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up in my throat.

"Sure. You are more than welcome."

Over the speaker, Molly let out a joyful cheer.

Eason immediately shifted back into his gentle, protective tone.

"Wait for me at the airport. I am on my way."

He hung up and looked at me.

"I am going to pick Molly up. Could you clean up the guest room for her?"

I gave him a look.

"Eason, can Molly take an Uber? There is somewhere the two of us need to be."

He frowned deeply.

"I already promised her. I am not going to back out now."

"It is only a three hour round trip. Whatever you need to do, it can wait until I get back."

"Okay."

"I am leaving."

He walked out in a hurry.

Completely oblivious to the small duffel bag sitting right next to my feet.

I waited for him for three hours.

He never came back.

I opened my phone and scrolled through my feed. A post from Molly, uploaded ten minutes ago.

[I was so sad today, but Eason insisted on taking me to the amusement park! What girl can say no to a Ferris wheel? I know I cannot~]

I hit the like button.

I stood up.

Picked up the duffel bag containing the very last of my belongings.

And walked out of the house I had called home for five years.

As I stepped out of City Hall, I snapped a photo of the finalized divorce decree, texted it to Eason, and hailed a cab to the airport.

Seven hours later, I landed in Seattle.

I slid into the passenger seat of Harper's car.

As she excitedly babbled about all the new restaurants that had opened up downtown, I powered my phone back on.

Notifications flooded the screen like an avalanche.