The Gumbo Betrayal

“The smell of gumbo usually promised comfort, a life I' d carefully built around Ethan. For five years, I' d sacrificed my culinary dreams, even Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, to be the quiet wife he wanted, especially on our anniversary. But instead of flowers, he walked in with a packed bag, claiming a "client emergency," his eyes fixed anywhere but mine. Hours later, the cooling gumbo was a monument to my foolishness when I saw it: Sabrina Chavez, his high school sweetheart, flaunting him-and the designer bag he' d bought her-in a Napa Valley vineyard, captioned "#soulmates." His frantic call, whispered excuses about Sabrina "needing a friend," only solidified my resolve. "There won' t be a next year," I told him, the words quiet but clear. He came home, expecting tears, but found me calmly eating leftovers, offering a cheap bracelet instead of an explanation. My indifference unnerved him far more than any fight, but he still couldn't grasp the silent fury beneath my calm. Why did his freedom mean I had to shrink myself? Why was I the one always sacrificing? I walked into work the next morning and quit. It was time to remember the woman I' d buried. Paris was calling, and I wasn't just leaving him; I was finally choosing me.”