The Empty Chair

Summary

At our seventh-anniversary dinner party, my husband shouted from the kitchen.

"Babe, come help me serve this dish."

Before I could even stand up from my seat, my best friend had already trotted over, hugging him from behind and taking the plate.

Seeing me frozen in place, she quickly explained.

"I'm so used to being ordered around by my mom at home, it's become a reflex. Don't overthink it."

I didn't argue or make a scene. I finished the dinner party with a composed face.

After the guests left, I calmly said to my husband, who was clearing the table, "Let's get a divorce."