My Husband and His Boss

The Valentine's Day’s night breeze carried a hint of sweetness, wrapped in the scent of roses drifting from the street-side flower shop. I heated the soup for the third time in the kitchen. When Leo Lincoln left this morning, he said, "I'll be home early tonight, and I'll bring you a gift," but now the clock already shows nine. I picked up my phone. There were no messages from him, only one from Mary Xavier in the work group chat saying, "Working overtime is tough. I'll treat everyone to milk tea." Mary Xavier is Leo's boss, eight years older than us, always calling herself his "older sister." Last time, for Leo's birthday, she gave him an expensive tie and said, "You look good in a suit." I pushed down the discomfort inside me and poured the soup into the thermos flask. "Maybe he really is busy," I told myself in the mirror, forcing a smile, but no matter how hard I tried, the corners of my mouth wouldn't lift. Taking a cab to Leo Lincoln's company building, the security guard recognized me and smiled, saying, "Leo is in Ms. Xavier's office, just went in not long ago." I thanked the security guard and walked upstairs with light steps, the thermos flask in my hand still warm. Mary Xavier's office was at the end of the corridor; the door wasn't shut tight, leaving a finger-wide gap. Just as I was about to knock, I heard Mary's voice from inside, soft as cotton: "You're still so thoughtful, much more reliable than my husband Calvin." My hand froze in mid-air, and my heart suddenly started racing. I peeked through the crack of the door and saw Leo Lincoln half-kneeling on the carpet, his head buried in Mary Xavier's chest, his hands resting on her waist. The thermos flask clattered to the floor, spilling chicken soup everywhere and soaking the cuffs of my pants. Leo suddenly turned around, and when he saw me, there was no surprise in his eyes—only a flicker of irritation at being disturbed. He stood up, grabbed a tissue from the table to wipe the corner of his mouth, and quickly walked over to close the door. "Why are you here? Didn't I tell you to wait at home?" His voice was low, careful not to let Mary Xavier inside hear. I stared at the corner of his mouth, where a bit of milk residue still clung, and my stomach flipped over. "Is the breast pump just for show?" I clenched my teeth, my voice trembling. Mary Xavier casually walked over, looping her arm through Leo Lincoln's, her shirt collar still undone. She smiled at me, eyes full of challenge: "Viola, don't misunderstand. The breast pump doesn’t work well. Leo really helped me a lot just now—I feel much better." "You won't even let him come home on Valentine's's Day because of this?" I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging into my palms. Leo frowned and pulled me aside. "Can't you be a little more understanding? Mary Xavier just gave birth. Her breasts are swollen and painful. I can't just stand by and do nothing, can I?" "Can’t stand by and do nothing?" I smiled, though tears almost fell. "And what about me? I waited for you at home for three hours, reheated the soup three times—did you ever care?" Mary Xavier gently patted Leo's hand and said softly, "Alright, alright, it's my fault for ruining your holiday. Leo, you should go back early. Don't upset Viola." She paused, then added, "By the way, Viola, you haven't made dinner yet, right? Leo Lincoln just had something here—he probably won't be able to eat yours." Leo Lincoln reached out to hug me, the scent of his perfume mixed with a hint of milk washing over me. I stepped back, avoiding his touch. "No need, I'll go back by myself." I didn't pick up the thermos flask from the floor, instead turning toward the elevator. The hallway lights were bright, casting my shadow alone on the ground, split as if it had been cleaved down the middle. When I got home, it was almost eleven o'clock. The living room light was still on, and the wedding photos on the wall smiled back at me, glaringly bright—that was taken last year, Leo Lincoln holding me, saying, "I will only ever love you." I slipped off my shoes and stepped barefoot onto the cold floor. The nausea in my stomach grew worse; I rushed to the bathroom and bent over the toilet, vomiting until I felt faint. When I had nothing left to throw up, I leaned against the wall and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red like a rabbit's, my hair messy and wild, and the corner of my mouth still stained with traces of stomach acid. I remember on our wedding day, Mary Xavier suddenly called and said, "I'm about to give birth, and no one is here with me." Leo Lincoln looked at me, conflicted: "Honey, Mary's all alone and miserable. I'll go to the hospital to be with her for a while and come back soon." I was wearing my wedding dress, clutching my bouquet tightly, and nodded: "Okay, just come back soon." But once he left, he didn't come back for an entire month.