The coming storm

Summary

My parents took a fifty-hour train ride on hard seats from our small hometown to see me in the city.

But my wife, a Michelin-starred chef, served them a plate of half-cooked pork hocks.

Staring at the glistening bristles still on the pig skin, I demanded a divorce on the spot.

She looked at me, shocked. "I just forgot to check the time on the pork. You want a divorce over that?"

I thought of the picture her first love had just posted to his social media―a gourmet feast. I nodded.

"I do."

"