The sun was setting, painting the cobblestone streets in soft golds and oranges, but I barely noticed. Qianqian walked beside me, her hand brushing mine occasionally as we strolled through the familiar streets of our neighborhood. Children laughed as they chased each other, the scent of roasted chestnuts filled the air, and somewhere, a street musician played the erhu with quiet passion. To me, it was all just background noise – pleasant, perhaps, but unremarkable. I glanced at Qianqian, and the light in her eyes was almost enough to make me feel guilty for my indifference.
"Look, Taihan," she said suddenly, crouching by a crack in the pavement where a patch of wildflowers had sprouted. Her voice was filled with awe, as if she'd discovered treasure. "Isn't it amazing how they grow here?"
I looked down at the flowers, vibrant against the dull gray of the sidewalk. "Amazing," I said, forcing a small smile.
She didn't seem to notice – or perhaps she chose to ignore it. She stood and looped her arm through mine, her fingers curling around my sleeve in that familiar way that felt like a tether.
"It's such a beautiful evening," she said softly, her voice full of hope.
"Yes," I repeated. "Beautiful."
But it wasn't beautiful to me. I felt as if I was watching a painting behind glass. My thoughts churned with restlessness, and I swallowed down the gnawing feeling in my stomach.
We ended up at the little tea shop near the edge of the street. It was a place we'd visited countless times before, and the elderly owner greeted us with the same warm smile as always, showing us to our usual corner table. Qianqian ordered green tea, her eyes lighting up as she reminisced about our earlier visits.
"Do you remember the first time we came here?" she asked, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "It was just after we got married. You said the tea was too bitter, but I caught you sneaking another sip."
I nodded, chuckling out of obligation. "How could I forget? You spilled tea all over my shirt."
When the tea came, we sat in silence for a while. Qianqian seemed perfectly content, her hands wrapped around the porcelain cup as she gazed out at the street.
"I missed this," she admitted quietly.
I looked at her, surprised. "Missed what?"
She smiled, gazing at me with that innocent look that I had missed for so long. "You. It's been so long since…" her voice trailed off, and she looked down at her lap. "Since we've had time for ourselves like this. You're always so busy with work."
"Yes," I said, "I am."
"Do you think we could do this more?"
"We'll see."
Her smile wavered slightly before she ducked her head down. "Of course," she laughed.
We sat there, together. I wasn't sure why I was so upset. Years ago, I would've worked myself to death to afford something like this for her. But, I reasoned, I had Bella now.
I took a sip of the tea, its floral bitterness lingering on my tongue, and stared into the swirls of steam.
"Taihan," she began hesitantly, her voice softer now. "Are you happy?"
I almost choked. The question caught me off guard, but I quickly masked it with a cough. "What kind of question is that?"
Her eyes searched mine. "I just mean… are you happy with us? With this life?"
The steam rising between us seemed to fill the space with an oppressive heat. "Of course I am," I said, "Why would you ask that?"
She looked away, her gaze falling to the worn wood of the table. "You don't seem like it, that's all. Not anymore."
I set my cup down with deliberate care, avoiding her eyes. "Work's been… demanding. You know that."
Qianqian nodded slowly, but her expression didn't soften. "It's not just work, though, is it? It's like you're somewhere else, even when you're with me."
For a moment, all I could hear was the faint clink of a spoon from another table. My mind raced, and I could feel the edges of guilt creeping in, sharp and insistent.
"You're imagining things," I smiled, digging my nails into the palm of my hand. "Maybe I just need some time to unwind."
Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but then she stopped herself. Instead, she reached across the table, her fingers brushing against mine. "I just want you to be honest with me, Taihan. That's all I've ever wanted."
I stared at her hand, delicate and familiar, and felt a pang of something I couldn't name. "I know," I said finally. "I'll try."
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "That's all I can ask for."
The shop seemed quieter now, as if the world outside had paused to listen in on the fragile exchange.
The walk home was quiet. Qianqian held onto my arm, her fingers loose and tentative, as if she feared her touch might break me – or perhaps herself. I didn't say much, offering the occasional grunt in response to her soft attempts at conversation.
"Do you want me to make us something to eat?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of hope.
"No, I'm fine," I said quickly, brushing past her into the dimly lit room. I ignored her stare, heading straight for the drawer where I kept the cash we saved.
I opened it and froze. It was gone.
My chest tightened as I rifled through the drawer, pulling out old receipts, a stray button, and a small pouch of coins. My hands trembled as I slammed the drawer shut and spun around. Qianqian stood in the doorway, her brows knitted together in confusion.
"Where is it?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.
She blinked. "Where's what?"
"The money. The money I left in the drawer," I snapped, taking a step toward her. "It's gone."
She stared at me blankly. "I put it away."
"Put it away where?" I took a step toward her, my fists clenching. "What are you talking about?"
"We need to ration it, Taihan," she said calmly. "We've been spending too much. We can't do that anymore."
"You what?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "You decided to ration my money without telling me?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone remained steady. "It's not just your money, Taihan. It's for both of us. For the house. For food. For –"
"Don't give me that," I cut her off, my anger boiling over. "I'm the one who earned it. I'm the one who decides how it's spent."
Her jaw tightened, but she refused to back down. "That's exactly the problem," she said quietly. "You've been spending it on things we don't need. On things you won't even explain to me.
"I don't have to explain anything to you," I snapped, the words escaping before I could stop them. "I earned that money. I can spend it however I want."
She took a deep breath, her face pale but resolute. "Not if it means we can't afford to live. I won't let you waste it, Taihan. Not anymore."
Her calmness only enraged me further. "Who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can't do with my own money?"
For a moment, she said nothing, just staring at me with an intensity that made me feel more cornered than her words ever could. Then, quietly, she said, "Get out."
I stared at her, the words not registering at first. "What did you say?"
"Get out," she repeated, her voice trembling slightly now. "I won't stand here and let you treat me like this. Not in my own home."
"Your home?" I laughed bitterly. "This home wouldn't exist without me."
She said nothing, only pointing to the door. Her silence was more infuriating than anything she could have said.
Without thinking, I reached into the drawer and grabbed a fistful of coins, the cold metal biting into my palm.
"Fine," I spat, shoving past her. "If you want to live like this, be my guest. But don't expect me to sit around and suffer with you. I was the one who bought you flowers. I paid for the tea that you drank. And here you are, rationing out the money that I worked for."
"And who are you going to spend that money on, Taihan?"
I froze. My breath caught in my throat.
Did she know? Had she found out about Bella? I couldn't hear anything over the pounding of my heartbeat.
I turned to face her slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral. "What are you talking about?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
She raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed. "The bar. You've been going there every other night, haven't you? Spending on drinks like we don't have bills to pay."
The relief that washed over me was so sudden, it was almost dizzying. My shoulders sagged, and I had to fight to keep my reaction hidden. She didn't know. Of course, she didn't know.
I forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to me. "The bar? You think I've been wasting money at the bar?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me, Taihan. I've seen you come home smelling like alcohol more than once. It's not hard to figure out where you've been."
I swallowed hard, trying to recalibrate. This was an argument I could manage. "It's just a drink or two," I said, waving it off like it was nothing. "You're blowing this way out of proportion."
"Am I?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Because every coin you spend there is one less for us to eat with. One less to keep this house running. Do you even think about that?"
I clenched my jaw, anger flaring again, but this time it wasn't directed at her. It was at myself, for letting her get this close to the truth. "Don't lecture me," I said, keeping my tone harsh to mask my lingering panic. "I've already told you – I decide how to spend my money."
Her face hardened, and she pointed to the door again. "Then go. If you're so determined to waste what little we have, do it somewhere else."
For a moment, I hesitated. My anger was still there, but beneath it was the faint echo of fear, still fresh from the thought that she might've known about Bella. I turned away, shaking my head, and stormed out into the night, the coins clinking softly in my fist.
As the door slammed shut behind me, the cool night air hit my face, but it did little to soothe the chaotic thoughts swirling in my head. She didn't know, I repeated to myself. But how much longer could I keep it that way?
I shook my head, ignoring the fear churning in my stomach. She hid my own money from me. She barely knew how hard I worked to make those measly coins. I risked everything – I bought her flowers with my last yuan.
I froze, a cold rush of realization pouring over me. Where was I supposed to sleep tonight? I had only brought a few coins, barely enough to rent even the cheapest of motels. I felt another wave of anger. Who was she to take my money and force me out of my own home? We had been doing so well earlier. A date, in what felt like the first time in forever.
I knew that Qianqian was just trying to scare me – she would've let me back in if I just knocked on the door. Or better yet, I mused, I could take a short walk around the block and come back claiming that I thought about my actions.
The anger bubbling inside me didn't subside as I walked aimlessly through the dimly lit streets, the coins in my hand clinking with each step. It felt almost symbolic – my hard work reduced to mere scraps. I kept thinking about Qianqian's defiance that grated against every nerve in my body. She thought she was so noble, rationing money like she was the hero of some grand story.
She didn't understand the pressure I was under. Every deal I made, every hour I worked – it wasn't just for me; it was for us. And yet, she acted like I was the villain. How many times had I sacrificed my own wants for her comfort? The flowers, the dinners, the tea – hadn't I proven my love enough?
And yet, there she was, controlling the one thing I still had agency over. My money.
The coins felt heavier in my palm, and I tightened my grip until the edges bit into my skin. I thought about the flowers I'd bought her a few years ago – fresh lilies because she mentioned once, years ago, that they were her favorite. She didn't even put them in water. They had withered on the table by the next day, and I'd thrown them out without a word.
But did she ever notice? Did she ever thank me for those small sacrifices? No. She just sat there, reminiscing about the past as if that alone could mend the growing rift between us.
I kicked a stray pebble, watching it bounce along the uneven cobblestones. I didn't want to go back. Not yet. The thought of stepping inside that house, of seeing Qianqian's disappointed gaze, filled me with a mixture of dread and resentment.
She had no right to question my happiness. What did she know about the weight I carried every day? She sat at home, managing the house, while I faced the world's demands head-on. And yet, somehow, she had the audacity to tell me how to spend the money I earned.
I let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh against the quiet night. She talked about sacrifices, but what had she ever sacrificed? I'd given her everything she asked for, and it was still never enough.
But then, an unwelcome thought crept into my mind, unbidden and persistent. Was I truly angry at her or at myself?
I shook my head, dismissing the thought. No, this wasn't my fault. She didn't understand the pressures of being the provider, the constant grind of making ends meet. She had no idea how hard it was to keep everything together, to maintain the life she seemed to take for granted.
I glanced back toward the house, now just a distant silhouette against the darkening sky. My footsteps slowed, and for a moment, I considered turning around. Apologizing. Making amends.
But then I thought about the drawer, empty because of her so-called rationing. About the money she'd hidden without my consent, as if I were a child who couldn't be trusted. The anger flared up again, hot and consuming.
No. She needed to understand that I wasn't someone to be controlled. I wasn't going to let her dictate how I lived my life.
And yet, as I stood there, caught between my pride and the faint glimmer of guilt, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this was all spiraling out of control. That the cracks in our life, once small and manageable, were beginning to spread faster than I could patch them up.
I tightened my grip on the coins and turned away from the house, determined to prove – if only to myself – that I was still in control.