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On my wedding day, the bridal car stopped in front of a one-room flat and I carried my wife into our new home. She was plump and shy; I was strong and happy.
In the decade that followed, we had a kid, I went into business and she remained a civil servant. Our marriage looked happy, but as our assets steadily increased, the affection between us ebbed. Then Dew came into my life.
As I stood on the balcony of the apartment I'd bought for her, Dew hugged me and said: "You're the kind of man who draws a girl's eyes." Her words brought to mind what my wife had said when we were newly-weds: "Men like you, once successful, will be very attractive to girls."
I knew I had betrayed her, but I couldn't help myself. I left after telling Dew I had something to attend to. Suddenly, divorce, which seemed impossible before, became a clear option.
The problem was telling my wife about it. I knew she would be deeply hurt because she had been a good spouse and mother.
Once, I had raised the subject in a joking manner: "Suppose we were to divorce ... What would you do?"
She stared silently at me; the notion seemed too far-fetched to even consider.
Days later, when she dropped by the office, all my employees gave her sympathetic glances. She smiled gently as she spoke to them, but I could see the pain in her eyes.
Before long, Dew broached the subject again. "Divorce her, okay? Then we can live together."
That night, after my wife had served the last dish, I grabbed her hand. "I've got something to tell you." She sat down and started eating again. Again, I noticed her sad eyes. "I Want a divorce."
"Why?" she asked softly.
"I'm serious," I said, avoiding the question. She threw down her chopsticks and shouted, "You're not a man!"
That night, we didn't speak to each other. She wept and waited for my answers. Engulfed with guilt, I drafted an agreement which stated that she could have our house and car, and a 30% stake in my company.
She glanced at the paper, then tore it to pieces. I felt a stab of pain at the thought that this woman who had lived 10 years with me would soon become a stranger.
The next morning, my wife showed me an agreement she'd drafted: she didn't want anything from me, but I had to wait a month before filling the papers. During that time we should continue as before. Her reason was simple: Our son's summer vacation would end in a month.
As she passed me the draft, she asked: "Do you still remember how I entered our bridal room on our wedding day?"
I nodded as memories flooded back.
"From now till the end of the month, can you please carry me from the bedroom to the front door every morning?"
I agreed. I knew she missed those sweet days and wished to end things in a romantic manner. When I told Dew about her request, she laughed and thought it absurd.
My wife and I hadn't had any body contact since I asked to divorce. So, when I carried her out on the first day, we both felt clumsy. Our son clapped behind us: "Daddy is holding mummy in his arms."
As I walked the 10m from bed to door, she closed her eyes and whispered: "Let's start from today. Don't tell him."
On the second day, she leaned on my chest. We were so close I could smell the fragrance on her blouse and see the fine wrinkles on her face. I realised that I had not really looked at her for a long time.
On the third day, she cautioned that there was some work going on in the garden outside. On the fourth, when I lifted her up, I felt a certain intimacy - as though I was holding my sweetheart. I did not tell Dew about this.
On the fifth and sixth days, my wife reminded me where she'd kept the ironed shirts, and that I should take care while cooking. She was looking through her dresses as I waited to carry her out. She tried on a few, then sighed. "All my dresses have grown bigger."
Suddenly, it struck me that I could lift her more easily now because she had shrunk, not because I'd grown stronger from daily exercise. I knew she had buried all the bitterness in her heart. As I reached to touch her head, our son walked in and said, "Dad, it's time to carry mum out."
She hugged him tightly when he came close and I turned away, for fear I would change my mind.
On the last day, as I held her in my arms, I could hardly move a step. My wife said, "I had hopes you would hold me in your arms until we are old."
After I'd left her at the door, I drove straight to the apartment and ran up the stairs. As Dew opened the door, I blurted out: "Sorry, Dew, I won't divorce her." She made to check my forehead, but I brushed her hand away.
"Our married life was boring because my wife and I didn't value the little things in life, not because we don't love each other any more. Now I understand: As I carried her into our home, I have to hold her until I am old."
Dew slapped me hard, burst into tears, and slammed the door in my face.
On the way back to the office, I stopped by the florist's. When the salesgirl asked my message for the bouquet, I smiled and wrote: "I'll carry you out every morning till we are old."
In the decade that followed, we had a kid, I went into business and she remained a civil servant. Our marriage looked happy, but as our assets steadily increased, the affection between us ebbed. Then Dew came into my life.
As I stood on the balcony of the apartment I'd bought for her, Dew hugged me and said: "You're the kind of man who draws a girl's eyes." Her words brought to mind what my wife had said when we were newly-weds: "Men like you, once successful, will be very attractive to girls."
I knew I had betrayed her, but I couldn't help myself. I left after telling Dew I had something to attend to. Suddenly, divorce, which seemed impossible before, became a clear option.
The problem was telling my wife about it. I knew she would be deeply hurt because she had been a good spouse and mother.
Once, I had raised the subject in a joking manner: "Suppose we were to divorce ... What would you do?"
She stared silently at me; the notion seemed too far-fetched to even consider.
Days later, when she dropped by the office, all my employees gave her sympathetic glances. She smiled gently as she spoke to them, but I could see the pain in her eyes.
Before long, Dew broached the subject again. "Divorce her, okay? Then we can live together."
That night, after my wife had served the last dish, I grabbed her hand. "I've got something to tell you." She sat down and started eating again. Again, I noticed her sad eyes. "I Want a divorce."
"Why?" she asked softly.
"I'm serious," I said, avoiding the question. She threw down her chopsticks and shouted, "You're not a man!"
That night, we didn't speak to each other. She wept and waited for my answers. Engulfed with guilt, I drafted an agreement which stated that she could have our house and car, and a 30% stake in my company.
She glanced at the paper, then tore it to pieces. I felt a stab of pain at the thought that this woman who had lived 10 years with me would soon become a stranger.
The next morning, my wife showed me an agreement she'd drafted: she didn't want anything from me, but I had to wait a month before filling the papers. During that time we should continue as before. Her reason was simple: Our son's summer vacation would end in a month.
As she passed me the draft, she asked: "Do you still remember how I entered our bridal room on our wedding day?"
I nodded as memories flooded back.
"From now till the end of the month, can you please carry me from the bedroom to the front door every morning?"
I agreed. I knew she missed those sweet days and wished to end things in a romantic manner. When I told Dew about her request, she laughed and thought it absurd.
My wife and I hadn't had any body contact since I asked to divorce. So, when I carried her out on the first day, we both felt clumsy. Our son clapped behind us: "Daddy is holding mummy in his arms."
As I walked the 10m from bed to door, she closed her eyes and whispered: "Let's start from today. Don't tell him."
On the second day, she leaned on my chest. We were so close I could smell the fragrance on her blouse and see the fine wrinkles on her face. I realised that I had not really looked at her for a long time.
On the third day, she cautioned that there was some work going on in the garden outside. On the fourth, when I lifted her up, I felt a certain intimacy - as though I was holding my sweetheart. I did not tell Dew about this.
On the fifth and sixth days, my wife reminded me where she'd kept the ironed shirts, and that I should take care while cooking. She was looking through her dresses as I waited to carry her out. She tried on a few, then sighed. "All my dresses have grown bigger."
Suddenly, it struck me that I could lift her more easily now because she had shrunk, not because I'd grown stronger from daily exercise. I knew she had buried all the bitterness in her heart. As I reached to touch her head, our son walked in and said, "Dad, it's time to carry mum out."
She hugged him tightly when he came close and I turned away, for fear I would change my mind.
On the last day, as I held her in my arms, I could hardly move a step. My wife said, "I had hopes you would hold me in your arms until we are old."
After I'd left her at the door, I drove straight to the apartment and ran up the stairs. As Dew opened the door, I blurted out: "Sorry, Dew, I won't divorce her." She made to check my forehead, but I brushed her hand away.
"Our married life was boring because my wife and I didn't value the little things in life, not because we don't love each other any more. Now I understand: As I carried her into our home, I have to hold her until I am old."
Dew slapped me hard, burst into tears, and slammed the door in my face.
On the way back to the office, I stopped by the florist's. When the salesgirl asked my message for the bouquet, I smiled and wrote: "I'll carry you out every morning till we are old."
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