Love Without Closure

Jimmy and I had been secretly married for years, right up until the day his old flame got pregnant with his child. The call came on our fifth wedding anniversary. The moment he heard she was at risk of a miscarriage, he grabbed his car keys and bolted, leaving me at home, doubled over with an appendix on the verge of bursting. I collapsed, and he spent the next two weeks at the hospital by her side. When I saw him again, he tossed his coat, reeking of hospital disinfectant, onto the sofa. His voice was as flat as if he were discussing the weather. “I’ve increased the limit on your credit card. Buy whatever you need.” “She just made it through the critical period. She can’t be left alone.” But this time, I had come to say goodbye. 1 I handed the papers to Jimmy right after I was discharged from the hospital. He was in the middle of a video call with her, his first love, Evelyn. The words “DIVORCE AGREEMENT” were printed in bold capital letters right at the top, but he didn't even glance at them. He just signed his name with a swift, clean stroke. I took the document and turned to go, but his eyes suddenly flickered up from his phone. “That restorative yam porridge you used to make—it’s very nourishing. Starting tomorrow, could you send two servings to the hospital every day? She can only have soft foods right now.” That recipe was something I had spent weeks perfecting, poring over old herbalist texts. In our first year of marriage, Jimmy had ruined his stomach with endless business dinners and drinking. I was the one who stood in the kitchen, testing dozens of ingredient ratios until I found the gentlest, most healing blend. Now, he wanted to take that piece of my heart and offer it to another woman. Even though I had already made up my mind to cut all ties with this man, my eyes burned with tears. When I didn’t answer, Jimmy’s brow furrowed with impatience. “Can you teach the housekeeper, then? Just write down the steps for her. Consider it… me buying the recipe from you.” “Two million dollars. Is that enough?” I used to make excuses for him, but now I didn't even have the energy to argue. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Fitch.” “The yam has to be…” “Add half a spoonful of honey at the end. No sugar.” “I wish Miss Lin a swift recovery.” As I spoke, I saw his grip on his phone tighten. A flash of shock crossed his face before it was buried again under a mask of indifference. “You don’t have to be so formal. We’re still legally married. When you have a child one day, I’ll also—” I let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh. Right. Jimmy didn’t know we’d already had a child. I miscarried in my eighth week of pregnancy. I was walking out of the clinic alone when a delivery bike swerved and clipped me. A deep, pulling pain shot through my abdomen, and I collapsed. It was a kind nurse who saw me and helped me into the emergency room. I couldn't look her in the eye when she asked her questions. How was I supposed to explain that my husband couldn’t be with me for an ultrasound because he was busy delivering a meal to another woman? His phone buzzed in his hand, and the name “Evelyn” lit up the screen, stabbing at my eyes. The urgency in his voice was sickening. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell again?” A draft from the entryway snaked in, chilling the last vestiges of my affection for him. I turned and walked into our bedroom to start packing. The next morning, I found Jimmy in the living room, his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night. On the coffee table was an unopened pastry bag from that trendy café on the corner. I pulled it open—inside were mango crepes and an iced latte. My hand froze in mid-air. The tiny flicker of hope left in my heart deflated like a pricked balloon. Jimmy rubbed his temples, his voice rough. “Why aren’t you eating? I picked it up on my way back from the hospital. I heard it’s really popular.” “We’ve been married for five years, Jimmy. Did you forget that I’m allergic to mangoes?” My voice was quiet, but he shot to his feet as if he’d been struck, sweeping the bag into the trash can. “Sorry,” he said, a note of panic in his tone. “Evelyn said they were good. I thought you might like them too.” He couldn't even remember my most basic allergy, yet another woman’s passing preference was gospel. The condensation from the iced latte bled through the paper cup. I placed it gently on the coffee table and pushed it toward him. “You see, Jimmy? Some things, when they’ve expired, just need to be thrown away.” I didn’t wait to see the stunned look on his face. I went back to the bedroom and continued packing. In a moment of habit, I picked up my phone and opened my messages. My chat with Jimmy was still at the top, the last message from over two weeks ago. It was the night before our anniversary; he’d been out until 3 a.m., and I’d stayed up waiting until 3 a.m. I clicked on Evelyn’s profile. Her posts were private, visible for only three days. There was a single, solitary picture. A crystal vase filled with a bouquet of pale pink champagne roses. The caption read, “Thank you, Jimmy.” I could see the corner of a white hospital curtain in the photo. I recognized those flowers. I’d once told him they were beautiful and asked if he’d ever buy me some. He had frowned and called them “a frivolous waste of money.” But he’d had them sent straight to Evelyn’s hospital room. I gave the picture a ‘like,’ then deleted my entire five-year chat history with him. 2 I was out at lunch when my phone buzzed. A message from Jimmy. “The housekeeper said you’ve cleared out a lot of your things?” My friend Zoe was in the middle of talking to me, and it felt rude to reply. I locked the screen and put the phone away. “Are you really done with him for good this time?” Zoe asked. “It’s long overdue.” “Remember last year when you had a 102-degree fever, and he told you to ‘figure it out’ yourself because he had to go with Evelyn to some art gallery opening? I swear, only you could have tolerated that for so long.” While Zoe fumed on my behalf, I just sipped my water, one mouthful after another. She helped me look at new apartments, and by the time I got home, it was already past nine. When I switched on the lights, I jumped. Jimmy was sitting on the sofa in the dark. “Why are you back so late? You didn’t answer my message.” I was too exhausted to explain. “I was out with a friend,” I said, the half-truth slipping out easily. His eyes followed me, a question hanging in the air. “Next time you’re going to be this late, you need to let me know.” I pretended not to see the long, dark hair on his jacket—the one that smelled faintly of disinfectant. It could only belong to Evelyn. Later, after I had washed up for the night and was about to turn off the light, Jimmy pushed the bedroom door open. “I’ll have the housekeeper make you some of those high-end health tonics tomorrow. You look pale.” “And I’ve told the driver he’s at your disposal. He can take you wherever you want to go.” I pulled the covers up to my chin. “No, thank you. I threw all those supplements out when I was packing.” Most of the expensive health products he’d bought me over the years were still sealed. As for the driver, that was even more pointless. The driver had always been for Evelyn. I was the one who always had to call a cab. His footsteps stopped. After a two-second pause, his voice rose, sharp and loud. “What the hell do you want from me?” Slam. The force of him shutting the door made the picture frames on the wall tremble. I could hear his voice, tight with fury, from the other side of the door. “Don’t you dare pull this passive-aggressive crap with me. I don’t have time for these games. When you’re done with your tantrum, we can talk. But don’t expect me to come groveling every time.” There was a time when those words would have sent me into a spiral of anxiety. But now, hearing that familiar threat, my heart was as still and silent as a frozen lake. Jimmy waited for two days, but he heard nothing from me. Our only interactions now seemed to happen at the dinner table. I ate my meal in silence and was about to head back to my room when he stopped me, his face grim. “Virginia. That shawl you made got damaged. I need you to make me another one, exactly the same.” He pulled up the picture Evelyn had posted—magnolias embroidered with silver thread, shimmering in the sunlight. It was the shawl I had spent three months knitting for him. A gift for our first wedding anniversary. “Alright,” I said, my voice even. My quick agreement seemed to throw him off. He shifted, then offered a clumsy explanation. “Evelyn said the air conditioning in the hospital room was too cold. I figured it was a waste just sitting in the closet. She accidentally…” “I understand,” I cut him off. I met Jimmy when I was twenty-five. A competitor had tried to humiliate me at an industry event, spilling coffee all over my dress and breaking the heel of my shoe. He was the one who stepped in, smoothed things over, and even sent a new outfit to my hotel room. I would knit him one last shawl. A final repayment for that long-ago kindness. “Is there anything else?” The question seemed to startle him. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “No, that’s it. Just make a list of the materials, and I’ll have my assistant buy them.” “Don’t trouble yourself.” I turned and headed for the stairs. Just as I was about to disappear from view, Jimmy shot up from his chair and grabbed my wrist. I looked at him. His Adam’s apple bobbed for a long moment before he finally choked out the words. “Let me know if you need more yarn.” 3 In the hospital room, Jimmy gently draped the new shawl over Evelyn’s shoulders. It was only then that he noticed the notification on his phone—a transfer he’d sent eighteen hours ago had been rejected. The amount was half a million dollars, a number he had typed without a thought. He clutched the phone and walked to the window, his expression laced with irritation. “Virginia, what’s your problem with money? Why didn’t you accept it?” I was at my computer, typing the final sentence of an email confirming my transfer to the company’s new branch office. My voice was calm. “Why? Did Miss Lin not like it?” His tone immediately softened. “The new shawl is very comfortable. And beautiful.” He paused, then added, “You did a good job.” I was about to end the call when Evelyn’s sweet, soft voice drifted through the receiver. “Jimmy, sweetie, is that Virginia?” “Oh, Virginia, I’m so sorry to have troubled you.” Her voice was laced with a lazy sort of entitlement. “I didn’t want to be a bother, but the draft was just so uncomfortable. Please don’t be mad at Jimmy. You know how he is, always so soft-hearted with me. I feel terribly guilty, really. You two are married, after all. It’s not right for me to be causing friction between you.” Just as she was suggesting we all meet up so she could thank me in person, Jimmy took the phone back. “Virginia, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.” I heard the click of the line disconnecting. But ten minutes later, a text arrived: [Tomorrow, 3 PM. That trendy café on the corner. Order for us and wait.] When I pushed open the café door, they were already there, seated by the window. Evelyn was wearing Jimmy’s suit jacket, her hand resting gently on her swollen belly. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Virginia, you came!” Jimmy, however, looked stunned to see me. I knew he hated sweet things. The text could only have been sent by Evelyn. But I came anyway. Hearing Evelyn call me by my first name so familiarly, a flicker of something crossed Jimmy’s face. “I thought I told you that you didn’t have to come.” “Oh, it was my idea to invite her,” Evelyn said, placing her hand over Jimmy’s. Her voice was as tender as a lover’s whisper. “You’re always talking about her, aren’t you? You say she’s a wonderful cook and takes such good care of you.” She turned to me, a triumphant smile she couldn’t hide playing on her lips. “Virginia, please don’t be angry with Jimmy, okay? He was just so worried about me. As soon as the baby is born, I’ll make sure he properly…” Compensates me? Before she could finish, I cut her off. “That won’t be necessary.” The two of them, sitting across from me like a perfect little family, both froze. Jimmy’s brow furrowed, his expression hardening. “Virginia, what is that supposed to mean?” I pasted on a fake smile of my own. “At this stage, taking care of Miss Lin’s health is the most important thing, isn’t it?” Jimmy studied my face, searching for a crack in my composure, but found none. Of course, he probably didn't know. He’d already signed the divorce papers. His frown deepened, and his voice grew heavy. “As long as you understand. Evelyn is pregnant. She can’t handle any emotional stress right now. You’d be wise to think about the consequences before you do anything.” I gave a noncommittal nod. There was nothing more to say. I made an excuse and left. Half an hour later, I was back in the place I once called home. I went to the study, took out the signed copy of the divorce agreement, and placed the letter I’d already written on top of it. The letter contained no bitterness, just a calm, factual account of his years of neglect and indifference. I ended it with: “Jimmy, you were never unfair to Evelyn. From beginning to end, you were only ever unfair to me.” The moving company arrived soon after. My boxes were already packed and sealed. “Please have these delivered to The Grand Regent Hotel,” I told them. “The recipient is Virginia Sue.” …

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