Three years of marriage, and because my wife had severe germaphobia, we'd always kept our meals strictly separate.
Until the day I walked in on her eating with her young assistant.
He'd left half a bowl of rice unfinished. She picked it up and ate every last grain.
I didn't make a scene. Instead, the next day, I organized a group dinner.
When the meal was winding down, I scraped everyone's leftovers into her bowl.
"Eat up. Wouldn't want to waste food, right?"
She didn't say a word. But her little assistant lost it first.
"Mr. Henson, you've been a stay-at-home husband for three years. You never even look at price tags when you shop. All of that comes from Director Prescott's pocket."
"And now you're humiliating her in front of everyone over something this petty? That's seriously out of line."
I wasn't angry. I simply said, "You're fired."
My wife, who had always been gentle and accommodating, slammed her palm on the table and turned on me for the first time in our marriage.
"Rolf Henson, you don't have the authority to fire my employees!"
I let out a quiet laugh. Once a woman was broken, there was no point keeping her around.
Worst case, I'd just marry someone else.
——
My wife called out of nowhere to say she was working late and couldn't make it home for dinner.
As luck would have it, a buddy of mine hit me up, so we decided to grab some barbecue together.
As we passed a restaurant, he pointed at the table near the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Doesn't that woman look like your wife?"
I squinted. It was only a view of her back, but I recognized Fiona Prescott instantly.
Across from her sat the young assistant who'd joined the company less than a month ago.
Job Fox frowned slightly, staring at the half-eaten bowl of fried rice in front of him with a helpless expression.
Fiona saw this and smiled indulgently. She reached over, picked up his leftover rice, and shoveled it into her mouth in a few quick bites. Not a single grain left.
I froze.
Fiona had severe germaphobia. In three years of marriage, we had never once shared a dish.
One time, I'd picked up a piece of fish for her and placed it in her bowl, forgetting to use the serving chopsticks.
She dumped the entire bowl of rice along with the fish straight into the trash. The whole plate of fish I'd touched with my chopsticks? She didn't take a single bite.
Even in bed, she insisted on so many layers of protection that in three years of marriage, we'd never been able to have a child.
I pushed the door open and walked in, staring at the empty bowl in front of her.
"Was it good?"
The tenderness in Fiona's eyes flipped to panic in an instant.
"Honey."
"Job couldn't finish all that rice, and I didn't want it to go to waste, so I helped him out. Don't overthink it."
"Didn't you say you were working late? Finished already?"
"There were some last-minute changes on the project, so we didn't need to crunch after all."
"Mr. Henson, you've never held a job before. These kinds of last-minute changes happen all the time on projects."
I turned to Job Fox. "Did I ask you? Keep your mouth shut."
Job's face crumpled into a wounded look.
Fiona grabbed my hand. "Come on, honey. He was hungry, so I just took him out for a quick bite. We're coworkers, that's all. Don't scare him."
Job tugged lightly at Fiona's sleeve. "Director Prescott, I'm full. Could you drive me home? It's hard to get an Uber this time of night."
Fiona looked at me. "Honey, you're not upset, are you? How about I drop Job off first?"
"Go ahead."
Fiona left with Job immediately, without a backward glance.
I acted like nothing had happened and went back to eating and shooting the breeze with my buddy.
The next day, just before the end of the workday, I walked straight into the executive suite.
"Everyone, put your work down. We're clocking out early today. Dinner's on me!"
Nobody moved.
Not until Fiona spoke up. "Go ahead, everyone. You're dismissed."
Only then did people set aside their work and follow me to the restaurant.
It was a great meal.
When the last person set down their fork, I asked, "Everyone had enough?"
