One evening, I got up for a glass of water and stopped short. Jonathan was standing in front of the tank, feeding it. His lips were moving, muttering words I couldn’t make out.
This man, who hated hassle more than anyone I knew—why would he drag himself out of bed in the middle of the night just to feed a fish? And what exactly was he whispering to it?
A chill crawled over my skin.
I shook it off and said flatly, “The eel is pretty, but I don’t like fish anymore.”
“You used to say you loved fish… that you loved water.” His voice caught, trembling with emotion, he was trying to hold back. “You said once our child grew older, we’d keep a whole tank. You said we’d take him to the aquarium often. Have you forgotten all that?”
“Things change.” I pushed the divorce papers toward him. “Sign them. Three days from now, we’ll meet at the court.”
“No! I won’t sign!” He clutched the papers so tightly that the veins in his arm stood out, his knuckles stark white. “Angela, is something weighing on you? Did I not do enough? Tell me, and I’ll change. I’ll change everything! Don’t joke about divorce. Ethan is still so little—can you really let him grow up without a father?”