My Husband Said I'm a Mama's Girl, So I Chose Divorce

On the Harvest Festival, I was in the store picking out holiday pies when Marcus Abbott said, out of nowhere:

You know, you really do act like a mama's girl.

My hand went still on the boxed pie set.

He pressed a couple of cheap loose ones into my grip instead.

Back home, my mother called several times in a row.

She wanted to confirm my travel plans.

While Marcus was in the shower, I slipped out to the balcony to take the call.

I'd barely been on for a few seconds.

He came charging out with a towel around his waist and snatched the phone away.

"Can you not be so controlling with Leila Pruitt all the time? She's so spoiled she can't even manage the housework, and it's because parents like you coddled her rotten!"

I looked down at my phone wallpaper.

It was his proposal vows. The first line read:

"Leila's going to have an easy life married to me. She won't have to lift a finger around the house."

I didn't say anything. I picked up the underwear and socks he'd flung on the floor.

The doorbell rang.

Norma Fletcher again, my best friend, come over to cook.

Like me, she was from the South, chasing a career up here in the big city, and she had a good hand in the kitchen, cooking exactly the way I liked.

Lately, though, she'd made nothing but vegetable soup and scrambled eggs with greens for a week straight.

At the table, Marcus put the biggest piece of egg on her plate.

"See, this is what I mean. You fit right in wherever you go. Not like Leila, always fussing over her spicy dishes, never once thinking about her own husband."

Norma laughed and wiped a grain of rice from the corner of his mouth.

"Watch your mouth. My Leila is a little princess, a mama's girl! She gets to eat what she's used to, right, Leila?"

A message from my mother came in at the same time.

"Did I do something to upset Marcus? Don't fight over it. I can spend the Harvest Festival on my own, it's fine."

I typed back: "Mom, I'll be home next week."

The kind of home-coming that comes with a divorce certificate.

...

While the two of them chatted and laughed, the plate of eggs and greens was picked clean of everything but the greens.

I quietly set down my chopsticks and went to make myself a bowl of instant ramen.

Norma caught my arm.

"Your Highness, what is it now? Don't tell me my cooking isn't as good as your mother's?"

Marcus jumped in before I could answer.

"How could it be? Her mother only knows how to fry chili with chili. Just the smell kills your appetite."

He ladled out a bowl of vegetable soup.

When he handed it to me, his eyes were still drifting toward Norma.

"Your face has been getting greasier lately, breaking out too. Take a lesson from Norma. Eat light and your skin stays nice and clear."

Something snagged in my chest.

My skin only started breaking out after I moved up here. It didn't agree with me.

Before we married, Marcus had promised over and over that he'd take me home every week, that I'd get my health back.

And now, not only was going home out of the question, even a breakout was proof of how spoiled I was.

Norma slapped the back of Marcus's hand.

"Don't talk about our little princess Leila like that. She's not one to mess with, she'll get mad!"

Marcus didn't pull away. A faint smile touched his lips.

"And whose fault is that? You're the best friend who spoiled her. She's got a full-blown case of mama's-girl syndrome."

A sharp pain twisted through my stomach.

I didn't even have the appetite for instant ramen anymore.

"I'm full."

Norma bumped Marcus's shoulder.

"The little princess is upset. Aren't you going to go after her?"

Marcus's tone was flat.

"She married her way over here. Where else does she have to go besides home? Let her throw her fit. She'll come back on her own."

The air outside was a lot fresher.

I went back to the store, thinking I'd pick out two boxes of pies over again.

I opened my phone. Marcus and Norma had both posted at the same time.

The photo was an extra-spicy hot pot dinner, the two of them making a heart together.

The caption: "One spark and the Southern spitfire goes off again! Good thing the Southern kitchen girl's authentic spicy stew is here to cure it."

Marcus's comment:

"So good and spicy. This is exactly my thing!"

I stared at my own profile background.

It was the second line of Marcus's wedding vows.

"Leila can't live without her spice. There'll be at least two spicy dishes on our table every day!"

I used to worry the spice was too much for him, so whenever I ordered in, I'd always add something bland for him too.

Turned out it was never that he couldn't handle it. He just didn't want to eat with me.

After I bought the pies and walked out of the store,

I went ahead and booked a plane ticket home South for a week from now.

By the time I got home, it was deep into the night.

The smell of hot pot broth and leftover food hit me the moment I walked in.

I started clearing the wreckage off the dinner table.

Then another wave of stomach pain came, so bad I couldn't stand it.

My hands shook, and a plate slipped and shattered.

A sharp shard sliced open the top of my foot.

Marcus heard it and came running out of the bedroom.

A white shirt on top, nothing but his underwear below.

The first thing I saw was the lipstick mark on his collar.

Then the sickening smell of perfume reached me.

His brow furrowed, his voice impatient.

"You're such a klutz. What kind of mess did you make this time? You know you're a mama's girl who can't even do housework, right?"

Then he saw the cut on my foot, and his voice went soft.

"Where'd you hurt yourself? Let me see."

I pulled away from his reaching hand.

"I'm not a mama's girl."

That was a phrase he'd picked up from Norma.

My whole life, Norma was the only one who ever called me that.

He let out a scoff.

"You're so precious you can hurt yourself just washing dishes. If that's not a mama's girl, what is it?"

"I've been having stomach pain lately, that's why I"

He cut off my explanation.

"Norma's right. You really should fix that spoiled streak your mother raised in you, or you'll never be able to take care of yourself."

I found it almost funny.

When I first married in, the second I picked up a broom or a mop, Marcus would snatch it away.

The second I put on an apron and stepped into the kitchen, he'd chase me back out.

And now he was blaming me for not being able to take care of myself.

He went back to the room and came out holding a document.

"This is Norma's live-in housekeeper contract. She's your best friend. Just sign it."

His tone wasn't a discussion. It was a notice.

Notifying me to make room for another woman.

How absurd.

I pushed the document away and said, "Marcus, I never agreed to this."

"Leila, stop being difficult. How are you jealous of your own best friend? I'm only doing this so it's easier to take care of you."

I curled the corner of my mouth.

"Easier to take care of me, or easier for the two of you to sleep together?"

Marcus's face went completely dark.

He threw the document in my face.

"Leila! You'd slander your own best friend like this? Do you know this could ruin her good name!"

"Her good name?"

I walked over to the trash can.

I reached in and pulled out an ultra-thin condom, still warm and wet inside.

"Marcus, is this the good name you're talking about? Don't you make yourself sick?"

Marcus's face paled.

But he recovered his composure fast.

"You can't satisfy me, so I'm not even allowed to take care of it myself?"

Take care of it himself, and still need a condom.

Whether it was that clumsy lie.

Or the way they couldn't even be bothered to hide it, dumping the disgusting thing straight into the most obvious trash can in the house.

It all came down to how sure Marcus was that he had me.

He was certain that, back then, I'd married him and moved all that way for him.

Crying, screaming, threatening, even falling out with my own mother.

That I would never leave him.

But he was wrong.

"Marcus, let's get a divorce."

I didn't look at his face. I turned my back and walked toward the study.

He asked, one word at a time, "Just because I want to bring Norma in as a live-in housekeeper?"

I answered, one word at a time, "Just because of that."

Since he'd never understand.

Then the reason didn't matter either.

"Fine. Then let's divorce. Leila, don't come regretting it."

The pain in my belly got worse overnight, and I didn't sleep at all.

So I went ahead and drew up the divorce papers.

The next morning I got up early to go to the hospital.

I walked into the living room and saw that Norma was there too.

She and Marcus were squeezed together at the entryway counter, eating breakfast.

Two servings of toast and fried eggs. Two sets of dishes.

Norma was wearing the shirt Marcus had on last night.

Marcus held a fry he'd half-eaten up to Norma's mouth.

The two of them shared it mouth to mouth, laughing and teasing.

As if they were the married couple.

Marcus said to Norma,

"Norma, how are you this gentle? I'm falling for you."

"I know. Living day in and day out with a textbook Southern brute like Leila must have been exhausting."

"Back then I really was young and didn't know any better."

When Norma and I first came north from Texas to chase a career in New York,

she'd loved to needle me in front of everyone, hot-tempered, princess syndrome.

At a group dinner she deliberately flipped up my short skirt, and I slapped her.

"See, I told you Leila was a Southern brute! Terrible temper!"

The whole private room burst out laughing.

Only Marcus said coldly, "What's so funny? Someone flips up your skirt and you're not allowed to be angry?"

The third line of his wedding vows:

"Leila has a bit of a temper, but that's what makes her most lovable."

But now.

He called it being young and stupid.

Norma's eyes shifted and landed on me.

She came over and took my arm as if nothing had happened.

"Awake, sleepyhead baby? Come try the breakfast I made you!"

Marcus came over too.

"Leila, even on a weekend you can't sleep this late. Learn from Norma. Be a little more diligent."

His tone was as flat as if nothing had happened last night.

Mama's girl, little princess, Southern brute, sleepyhead.

Norma had loved slapping labels like that on me since we were kids.

I'd always taken it as harmless childish teasing.

Now that I thought about it, it was purely her way of putting me down to lift herself up.

"My name is Leila Pruitt. Not sleepyhead."

Norma stuck out her tongue at Marcus.

Her voice was light, but loud enough for me to hear.

"Angry again! What a hothead!"

Marcus grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.

"Leila. Last night was my fault. But there's no reason to take it out on Norma."

Even his apology was there to protect Norma.

I pulled free, and quickly noticed the boxed holiday pie set was gone from the entryway cabinet.

"Where are the holiday pies I bought?"

Marcus's tone was flat.

"I returned them at the store.

So you'll stop worrying about your mom all day and neglecting this home.

And stop throwing around childish talk about divorce."

Norma chimed in from the side,

"Leila, it's normal for a young couple to have conflicts. But you can't bring up divorce at the drop of a hat. It really hurts."

"Besides, you only worry about buying holiday pies for your mom, and you never worry about cooking Marcus a meal. Isn't that a little one-sided?"

My mom and I hadn't seen each other in a year.

Even just calling her, Marcus made difficult.

And buying holiday pies once made me one-sided, made me a mama's girl.

Marcus nodded along, agreeing completely.

"Don't go back for the Harvest Festival this year. Stay home and learn to cook from Norma. Get rid of that mama's-girl disease."

I ignored him and opened my phone to order my holiday pies again.

"Marcus, we're already divorced. Whether I go home or not is none of your business."

I used face payment, but a failed-payment notice popped up.

I opened my bank account and found the eight hundred thousand balance had been wiped to zero.

This account was a joint account between Marcus and me.

It held my dowry and all of my savings.

Other than me, only he could touch it.

I was so furious my teeth were shaking.

"Marcus, what gives you the right to transfer my money?"

Marcus lit a cigarette, looking like it was entirely his right.

"The right that you can't do what a wife is supposed to do. I paid it toward Norma's live-in housekeeper fee. Consider it your punishment."

Eight hundred thousand.

Five hundred thousand of it was my mom's whole life of hard work.

She was afraid I'd suffer marrying so far away, so she'd given every cent of her own savings to me as a dowry, keeping nothing.

Another three hundred thousand was the bride-price my mom had fought so hard to secure.

The fourth line of Marcus's wedding vows: this card is Leila's security for marrying far from home.

Now he'd handed all my security to another woman.

"Leila, baby, Marcus is only doing this for your own good"

Before Norma could finish, my palm had already come down.

She pretended to be shoved and yanked my arm hard.

When I fell, my belly slammed into the floor.

A stabbing, piercing pain nearly made me black out.

Marcus's roar came.

"Leila Pruitt! You've gone too far!"

He scooped up Norma, whose knee had a layer of skin scraped off, and stormed out in a fury.

"With a temper like that, no one can stand you!"

I ran my hand across the floor.

And touched a warm, sticky smear of blood.

In the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

The pain was unbearable, and my mind kept slipping in and out.

Faintly I heard a nurse say:

"We think the patient's pregnant. She's bleeding."

"Can't unlock her phone. The family contact she listed has hung up on us ten times in a row."

"God. A husband this useless, and she's carrying his child. What a waste."

I lined up to pay, only to be told out-of-state insurance couldn't be used here.

I looked at the bank card with a zero balance.

And the forty-some call records, every one of them cut off by Marcus.

It was August, but my heart was as cold as the dead of winter.

I dialed my mother's number, tears sliding down without stopping.

"Mom. I'm out of money. Can you lend me some?"

"Leila, why are you crying? Did that rotten Marcus do something to you?"

"No. He's in a meeting. I just can't reach him right now."

The call hadn't even ended before my mother's transfer came through.

Twenty-eight thousand four hundred thirty-three dollars and forty-five cents.

Down to the last cent.

It was everything she had.

The note read: "Come home for the Harvest Festival. I miss you."

I pushed down the ache in my chest.

When I reached the payment window, Marcus was there too, holding Norma, paying through the VIP line.

He looked me over a few times and sneered.

"What else would I expect from a mama's girl. Sick and needing money, and it doesn't even cross your mind to call your husband. Only your mommy."

"Marcus. Is it that I didn't think of you, or that you wouldn't pick up?"

"I didn't pick up because you're vicious. You hurt Norma."

His arm was around Norma's waist, and he tightened it as he spoke.

"Apologize to Norma, and I'll transfer you the money for your treatment right now."

The pain in my stomach hadn't eased. If anything it was worse, so bad I could barely speak.

"I don't need it."

The next second, everything went black and I passed out.

When I woke again, I was lying in a hospital bed.

I felt too weak to lift my hand, my stomach twisting with nausea.

But the young nurse looked delighted as she congratulated me.

"Congratulations, Ms. Pruitt!"

I was still confused.

She explained:

"You're a month pregnant! You nearly lost it just now, but you've got a strong constitution, so we saved it. This baby was meant to be yours!"

Something stirred in me.

I touched the warm curve of my belly.

The young nurse caught the sharp look Marcus was giving her from the side.

She backed out of the room at once.

He sat beside me, and for once the way he held both my hands was gentle.

"Leila. Your money. I've already transferred it back to your card."

I couldn't make sense of the change in him, still caught in the shock and joy of being pregnant.

Then his next words turned me cold all over.

"This baby. You can't keep it."

I couldn't believe my ears, and I asked back:

"Marcus, what did you say?"

"You've got that mama's-girl thing, and you're a little princess. You can't even take care of yourself. How are you going to raise a child?"

He wanted to use the labels Norma had stuck on me to strip me of the right to be a mother.

He handed me a prenatal report.

Already three months along.

"Norma's pregnant too. And it's a boy."

My lips trembled as I asked:

"So?"

"Norma's very generous. She doesn't mind just being the child's godmother. Leila, you're still my only wife."

In that moment, seven years of marriage collapsed in my chest.

Not a trace of it left.

I smiled and nodded.

"Fine."

Since the two of you already have another family, then I'll give it to you.

Marcus threw his arms around me, moved.

Norma's perfume stung my nose.

This time I didn't even feel sick. Just numb.

I took out the divorce agreement I'd put in my bag the night before.

On top of it lay Norma's live-in nanny contract.

"I've signed. You sign too."

Marcus couldn't hide the smile on his face.

But there was a flicker of hesitation at the edge of his brow.

"Mm. Guess it's true what they say, you become who you spend time with. Hang around Norma more and you learn to be gentle too."

I said nothing, only smiled.

Three nights later, deep in the night, I quietly packed all my things and left the house.

I boarded the flight home to the South.

The moon on Harvest Festival night was full and round.

On the plane I slept comfortably for five hours.

The moment we landed the next day.

Marcus's messages and missed calls suddenly burst out, popping up like mad.