Chapter 1Eight Swiss Rolls

I scrolled past a trending meme online: “Eight Swiss Rolls. How many can I eat?” Seemed fun, so I casually shared it in the family group chat. A moment later, my phone buzzed incessantly.

Husband: “That whole box must be twenty, thirty bucks! Why’d you buy it? Aren’t your meals filling enough?”

“Seriously, such a gold-digger!”

Son: “Eat, eat, eat, eat it all! Mom, how old are you? Last year you were acting like one of those trendy influencers, eating just the tips of strawberries. This year, it’s Swiss rolls.”

“You really think you’re some online ‘cute little wife’!”

I stopped, my hand hovering over the lottery ticket in my pocket, and turned to retrieve my marriage certificate. I slapped a ten-dollar bill on my husband’s face. “Divorce. My treat!”

* * *

I wasn't born a housewife. Before marriage, I held a respectable position with a good salary. For the sake of my family, I sacrificed my career.

Leo’s mother was bedridden, incontinent. Every time I changed her adult diapers, they were bursting full. The acrid stench hit me, nauseating. My son had also just been born then. Leo was in the prime of his career, coming home drunk every day. I didn't even get my full postpartum rest. Alone, day and night, I cared for the entire family. My body was completely depleted. Now, I have a host of gynecological issues.

Before we married, Leo had promised me, “Honey, I’ll work hard to earn money and support you and our son. I won’t let you suffer a bit!” His idea of “supporting” meant I got a few extra bowls of plain rice. Eating a few Swiss rolls was being a “gold-digger.” I looked at my rough, ugly hands. I truly felt I wasn't worth it.

Good thing I finally woke up. I tagged them both in the group chat.

Me: “Leo, tomorrow morning at 8 AM, we’re going to the courthouse to file for divorce. Our son goes with you.”

A thankless wolf cub. Just abandon it.