When the Piano Loses Its Echo

In the third year of our marriage, I had a young man on the side.

I no longer threw myself into this tragic drama every time my husband cheated.

Like now I found a pair of ripped stockings in the passenger seat.

Peter glanced down casually, a half-smile in his voice,You know, young girls, they all likes to play around. Don't take it to heart.

This time I didn't scream or make a scene.

I only nodded a small, conceding nod.

His face darkened. He slammed on the brakes.

...

"Don't come over tonight. Peter's back."

The reply came instantly with a crying emoji.

I smirked slightly, and looked up to meet Peter's sullen face.

I put my phone away and asked coolly, "What's wrong?"

"You seem different," he said.

I froze.

This wasn't the first time that little girl had tried to provoke me.

Last time it had been her underwear, tucked into Peter's suit pocket.

Back then I trashed our living room, screamed at him like a lunatic, cried until I thought I'd die.

Peter had responded with icy indifference,"Can you be normal?"

Now, finally, I could do exactly what he'd asked face his infidelity with 'normal'.

I smiled. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Peter's expression went oddly cold, there was a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Maya may be young, but she's inventive in bed. She's fun."

"Babe, you should learn a thing or two from her stop being so boring," he said with a raised brow and a smile.

"Maybe then I'd be home more."

"No need." I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes.

Peter hadn't been home for a full month.

He'd flown off with Maya to Maldives for their honeymoon.

Posting one triumphant social feed after another.

I had become the biggest joke in our circle.

Now he stood in our doorway, looking at a home I'd altered beyond recognition, frowning.

All our wedding photo taken from the bedside there was no trace left that he had ever lived here.

"Where's my stuff?" he demanded.

"Thrown out."

Peter spun around wildly. "What do you mean?"

He stared at me, then smiled with forced softness. "Babe, I know I went too far this time. Are you mad?"

"Come on, I'm back to be with you now, right?"

"I even brought you a present."

He plopped a gift bag on the coffee table and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he reemerged, drying his hair, he asked almost casually, "Why'd you change my body wash?"

I fished through my memory and realized it had been Evan who'd switched it my kept man said, he didn't like the original scent, so he'd put in an orange blossom one.

The familiar orange-blossom scent floated over, Peter wrapped his arms around me from behind and pressed his face to my neck, deliberate, intimate.

"Babe, I missed you..."

My heart stuttered.

Evan's kisses still marked my chest faint, stubborn bruises.

If Peter shifted his eyes just a little lower, he'd see them.

I spun around and shoved him hard.

"I'm not Maya. If you want sex, go find her!"

Peter stumbled back and steadied himself, his face ashen.

Through clenched teeth he spat, "Will you ever stop YOUR FVCKING DRAMA?"

"I'd just spent a honeymoon with her. Didn't I ever accompany you when we get married? Are you really that serious?"

My voice was quiet, steady. "It not about that. Peter, I find you filthy."

Veins bulged along his forearm.

He grabbed the coat on the sofa with a furious snatch. "Shameless B*TCH! Don't ever beg me to ever come back again!"

He slammed the door so hard the whole flat shook.

I went to the coffee table and picked up that gift bag.

Memories hit me today should have been our fifth wedding anniversary.

I opened the box.

Inside was the same designer bag I'd posted on social media a few days before.

A limited edition only five of that in the world.

I tugged a bitter smile.

Poor guy even while honeymooning with his mistress, he'd thought to keep me soothed.

My phone buzzed.

Maya had sent a photo to me: she was disheveled and Peter's arm draped over her chest.

"Auntie, I practically begged Peter to come home to see you."

At midnight my phone rang jarringly.

I picked up.

Peter's slurred voice came through,"Babe... babe, can you come pick me up..."

I was about to hang up when another voice cut in unfamiliar, practical,"Hello, your guest is drunk here. Can you pick him up? We're closing up soon."

I gave the mistress Maya's number.

"Let her get him. I have no time."

These things had happened before.

I'd once driven an hour at fever pitch to fetch Peter in the dead of night, he opened the door and shoved me away, insisting, slurring, "I don't want you. I want Maya."

He told me not to bother him.

I stumbled backward and hit a metal table corner.

Blood dripped from my palm, but it didn't compare to the hurt in my chest.

I stared at the scar on the back of my hand.

After a long, half-sleep period, the phone rang again.

This time a stranger's voice,"Are you this fvcking drunk guy's wife?"

"He came to my place in the middle of the night. Can you please take him back? I'll call the police if you don't."

"What!?"

They gave me an address.

I sat up on the bed for a long moment.

Peter had went to our old rented flat, drunk and disoriented.

I kept apologizing to the woman who'd called, then dragged Peter out of her doorway.

He smelled of booze and was barely coherent.

"Annie... was your internship hard today?" he said in a soft, distant voice.

That old nickname "Annie" hit me like a punch.

He was so drunk, he thought it was the days right after our college graduation.

We'd been so poor back then, squatting in a tiny rental, dreaming big dreams.

I worked late into the night practicing, he'd pick me up from rehearsals no matter how late.

He hugged me and promised we'll have a better life.

My throat tightened and tears slipped down my cheeks.

I hurried to wipe them away, but Peter's hand beat me to it.

He brushed them gently, sounding small and hurt.

"Why aren't you mad? Why'd you change the body wash today... Why don't you get angry about Maya... You've changed..."

I looked at him, surprising both of us by staying calm.

"Because I'm tired."

"Of you, of us, of our feelings at this stage."

He kept talking, then pulled out something out from his coat.

In the silvery moonlight I made out, a small strawberry cake my favorite once upon a time.

I'd thought he'd forgotten.

Ironically, I first suspected his infidelity because of a small strawberry cake.

Maya wasn't his first time cheating on me.

The first time I discovered his affair, was on my birthday.

I'd set candles and a dinner at home, I'd put on a new dress and waited.

He walked in late, blinked at the little setup, and realized belatedly that it was my birthday.

Awkward, he tried to cover for forgetting he handed me a mango cake in his hand.

He'd forgotten I was allergic to mango.

At that moment something in me went razor-sharp.

I tore his shirt open and saw a fresh hickey tracing his collarbone.

It felt like the world split open.

I smashed everything in the apartment, I cried and demanded to know why.

I slapped and slapped him.

What did Peter do? He knelt down and begged for forgiveness.

After that I lived with suspicion, he grew impatient and distant, leaving the house more and more.

Then came Maya.

We fought like before, only now he didn't give in.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and said irritably, "Hey, I told you I can't cut Maya off. I love her."

"Just be Mrs. Hale publicly. I'll make sure she doesn't ruin your position," he promised.

My heart felt torn in two. I wanted to vomit.

I whispered, hoarse,"Peter, let's get divorced."

He crushed out his cigarette and spat, "No Fvcking Way."

"There's no divorce between us, only death will separate us don't even think about it," he said.

"If you want your mother to live, you'll hold on."

At the time my mother was gravely ill, I was the orchestra's most obscure pianist, helpless to pay for her care.

ICU bills came out of Peter's pockets.

He used that like a lever.

Every day after that felt like dying.

I watched him take Maya to every events as his 'wife'.

I felt like the silly mistress who couldn't show her face.

After cutting my wrist again and being slapped by Peter, something snapped in my heart.

I realized, why should I suffer like this?

If he couldn't make me happy, then I'd find my own happiness and so I met Evan.

Evan was gentler than Peter, more fun, and crucially, he listened.

Just like my husband Peter, I had someone on the side too.

I left Peter sleeping on the living-room floor the whole night.

In the morning he cornered me at the door, face dark.

"Why didn't you pick me up? Why did you let Maya to pick me up?"

"Why would I? Don't you love her?"

That set him off.

He grabbed my chin and kissed me wildly, as if angry kisses could fix things.

"You shouldn't be like this, Annie. You shouldn't react this way!"

"You should be angry when I cheated on you!"

I bit him hard to get out.

Blood filled my mouth.

"Peter, you're disgusting."

He looked at me with a cold, sinister light and said, before leaving, "Don't regret this."

I did feel uneasy about him.

But I didn't expect his revenge to come so fast.

Maya sent a message,"Try the principal's piano today!"