Chapter 6 - THE DAY I STOPPED PROTECTING MY HUSBAND FROM CONSEQUENCES
Shiaoza moved out.
I did not ask him to.
One evening he simply packed two suitcases.
He stood in the bedroom doorway.
“I think you need this house without me in it.”
I looked at him.
“Where will you go?”
“Hotel.”
“Which one?”
He almost smiled.
“Not the Napa one.”
I stared.
He immediately lost the smile.
“Bad joke.”
“Extremely.”
He nodded.
Then:
“I’ll stay at the Riverside.”
I knew it.
Ordinary.
Not luxurious.
That mattered less than he probably thought.
I asked:
“Are you leaving to make me miss you?”
“No.”
“Punish yourself?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He looked around the room.
“Because every time I come home, I look at you like I’m waiting for a verdict.”
He swallowed.
“That isn’t fair to you.”
For once, I agreed.
He left.
The house became quiet.
Not peaceful immediately.
Just quiet.
I learned how much of our marriage had consisted of waiting.
Waiting for flights.
Waiting for dinner.
Waiting for him to finish calls.
Waiting for myself to stop being angry.
Now I stopped waiting.
I worked.
But differently.
Not fourteen-hour days.
That would have been ironic.
The company launched a workplace-respect review across all offices.
Not a slogan campaign.
Actual policy changes.
Executive assistants lost unofficial supervisory power.
Managers received limits on delegated approvals.
Employees gained confidential reporting channels outside direct chains of command.
Elevator access became job-based rather than rank-based.
Several executives complained.
One said:
“You’re flattening status.”
I answered:
“I’m flattening unnecessary humiliation.”
He stopped complaining.
We also audited expense accounts.
That was entertaining.
Apparently several senior executives had spent years believing “client development” included wine cellars and golf clubs.
Two resigned.
One repaid money voluntarily.
One blamed his assistant.
I almost laughed.
Shiaoza never did.
He repaid every personal expense linked to Tong Tong.
Including the watch.
He sent the money to the company.
Not me.
Correct.
Then he sent my mother-in-law another birthday gift.
A handwritten letter.
No jewelry.
She framed it.
I pretended not to notice.
Three months after moving out, he asked me to meet.
Not dinner.
A therapist’s office.
I almost refused.
Then realized refusing because I was angry was still allowing anger to decide.
So I went.
The therapist asked why we were there.
Shiaoza answered first.
“Because I want to know whether my wife wants a divorce.”
I looked at him.
The therapist said:
“That’s not a reason for therapy.”
Good.
Shiaoza nodded.
“I know.”
Then:
“I want to understand why I needed another woman’s admiration enough to risk my marriage.”
Better.
The therapist looked at me.
“And you?”
I thought.
“I want to understand why I stayed so busy I stopped noticing my own marriage.”
Shiaoza immediately said:
“That doesn’t excuse me.”
I turned.
“I didn’t say it did.”
He looked down.
The therapist smiled faintly.
“We have something to work with.”
I did not move home with him.
He did not move back.
We met once a week.
Sometimes therapy.
Sometimes coffee.
Sometimes not at all.
He told me things I did not like.
He had resented my success.
Not consciously at first.
He loved bragging about me publicly.
Privately, he sometimes hated needing to schedule time with me.
I told him I resented his need to be admired.
I also admitted I had become emotionally self-sufficient to the point of treating marriage like a partnership between two efficient adults who happened to share a bedroom.
Neither justified betrayal.
Both explained distance.
One evening he asked:
“Did you ever almost cheat?”
I answered honestly.
“No.”
He winced.
Then:
“Did you ever want someone else?”
I thought.
“Want attention?”
“Yes.
“Want to feel admired?”
“Yes.”
His face tightened.
“What did you do?”
“Went home lonely.”
That hurt him.
It was supposed to.
Not cruelly.
Truthfully.
He whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
Then we both laughed because we had begun to hate that phrase.
At work, another surprise arrived.
Tong Tong requested a meeting.
Not with Shiaoza.
With me.
Her attorney attended.
I agreed because the legal investigation had concluded the criminal forgery charge would proceed, while some expense issues remained civil.
She entered wearing no white watch.
No designer clothes.
Simple black suit.
For the first time, she looked like an employee rather than a queen whose kingdom had disappeared.
She sat.
“I hate you.”
I almost admired the opening.
“Okay.”
She frowned.
“That’s all?”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
At least honest.
She looked around my office.
“This was supposed to be his.”
There it was.
“Did Victor promise you?”
“Yes.”
“And Shiaoza?”
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“He never promised.”
Important.
I leaned back.
“Then why did you believe it?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Because everybody treated me like his wife.”
My stomach tightened.
She continued.
“Hotels upgraded me.”
“Clients invited me.”
“Executives asked what he thought through me.”
“I knew his food. His medicine. His schedule. His mother’s birthday.”
A tear fell.
“I knew when he was tired before he did.”
I listened.
She said:
“And you were somewhere else.”
There was no accusation in the last sentence.
Just fact.
I replied:
“Yes.”
Tong Tong stared.
“I thought that meant I deserved him more.”
I looked at her.
“People aren’t promotions.”
Her face twisted.
“I know that now.”
Silence.
Then she said:
“I copied you.”
“I know.”
“The clothes.”
“I know.”
“The scarf.”
“Yes.”
“The watch.”
My jaw tightened.
She continued.
“I asked him for it.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“I knew he bought it for his mother.”
“Why?”
Her face collapsed.
“Because you chose it.”
There it was.
My mother-in-law had been right.
Tong Tong wiped her eyes.
“I wanted something he was supposed to give someone in your family.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted proof he would take something from your world and give it to me.”
Ugly.
Honest.
I appreciated neither.
She continued:
“He said no at first.”
My chest tightened.
“Then?”
“I told him it would mean a lot after Takeda.”
“And he gave it.”
“Yes.”
I looked away.
Shiaoza had not accidentally redirected the gift.
He had understood enough to refuse.
Then changed his mind.
That mattered.
Tong Tong whispered:
“He knew it was wrong.”
I looked back.
“Yes.”
“I think part of him liked it.”
“Yes.”
She cried harder.
“I hate him too.”
I nodded.
“That makes sense.”
She almost laughed.
Then:
“Do you forgive me?”
“No.”
The answer came easily.
She flinched.
I continued.
“I don’t know you well enough to need forgiveness for peace.”
That surprised her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t want revenge.”
I looked at her.
“But I also don’t need to make you comfortable with what happened.”
She nodded slowly.
“That’s fair.”
At the door, she stopped.
Then turned.
“He really does love you.”
I felt nothing from the sentence.
Maybe sadness.
Maybe fatigue.
“That was never the question.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she left.
Later, I told Shiaoza about the meeting.
He looked ashamed.
“She asked me for the watch.”
“I know.”
“I said no.”
“I know.”
“I gave it anyway.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“I understood what it meant.”
There.
Finally.
“No excuse?”
“No.”
Good.
He continued.
“I liked that she wanted proof I would choose her.”
My chest tightened.
Then he said:
“And I still thought I could come home and be your husband because I told myself it wasn’t sex.”
I looked at him.
“That was your lie.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“And I don’t believe it anymore.”
We sat quietly.
Then he asked:
“Do you still love me?”
I hated the question.
Because the answer was not simple.
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
I raised one hand.
“That is not the same as trusting you.”
“I know.”
“Or wanting you back.”
His face fell.
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He laughed through tears.
“Sorry.”
I smiled despite myself.
For the first time, healing felt possible.
Not reconciliation.
Healing.
There was a difference.
May you like
And I finally understood that a happy ending did not require me to know yet which one I wanted.
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