After Eight Years, They Threw Me Away

Chapter 4: My Wife Asked About Money First

I slept on the sofa that night.

Slept was too generous a word.

I lay there with my eyes open while the apartment moved around me in small, familiar sounds. The refrigerator humming. The clock ticking. A pipe knocking softly somewhere inside the wall. Rainwater sliding down the balcony glass.

All the sounds of home.

None of the warmth.

The blanket Olivia left for me smelled faintly of detergent. It was the thin spare one we used for guests. The pillow was from the storage cabinet, hard in the middle, flattened at the edges.

I had paid for the sofa.

I had paid for the apartment.

I had paid for the blanket, the pillow, the lights above me, the floor she had told me not to dirty.

And somehow I was the guest now.

Around two in the morning, I heard her bedroom door open.

I closed my eyes.

Her slippers whispered across the floor. She stopped near the sofa.

For a second, I thought she might say something.

Maybe she had calmed down.

Maybe she would ask about the data leak.

Maybe she would say she was scared and had spoken too sharply.

I waited.

She picked up her wine glass from the coffee table and walked back to the bedroom.

The door closed again.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

There are moments when a marriage does not break loudly.

No shouting.

No thrown plates.

No dramatic goodbye.

Just a woman standing two steps away from her husband and choosing a wine glass over him.

By morning, I had made coffee out of habit.

Two cups.

I realized my mistake only after the machine stopped.

Olivia came out dressed for the day, hair curled, makeup perfect, pearl earrings in place. She looked like nothing had happened. Like the man on the sofa was a delivery box she had forgotten to unpack.

She saw the second cup.

"I don't want coffee," she said.

"You always drink coffee before breakfast."

"I said I don't want it."

I poured mine into a mug and left hers untouched.

"I have an interview at ten," I said.

She paused at the dining table.

"Already?"

"I sent out resumes last night."

"For what positions?"

"Account director. Senior consultant. Client strategy."

She gave a short laugh.

I looked up.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Say it."

She picked up her phone and checked something before answering. "Those companies can hire younger people for less money. Why would they hire you now, especially with a termination record?"

I set the mug down.

"It is not a termination record. It is a false accusation."

"Can you prove it today?"

I said nothing.

"Then to everyone else, it is a termination record."

There was a terrible efficiency to the way she spoke. She did not shout. She did not cry. She cut.

Thin, clean cuts.

Almost elegant.

"Olivia," I said, "I need you to understand something. I didn't lose my job because I became useless overnight. The company framed me because they needed to reduce costs."

"And I need you to understand something," she replied. "The mortgage does not care why you lost your job."

I breathed in slowly.

"I know."

"Do you?" She looked at me then. Really looked. Not at my face, but at the shape of my failure. "Because you keep talking about being wronged. Fine. Maybe you were wronged. But what am I supposed to do with that? Pay the bank with your grievance?"

The coffee turned bitter in my mouth.

"I never asked you to pay the bank."

"No, you just expect me to wait while you figure yourself out."

"We are husband and wife."

"That does not mean I have to drown with you."

The words struck the table between us.

For a moment, even Olivia seemed startled by them.

Then her jaw tightened, and she looked away.

"I am late."

She grabbed her purse.

"Where are you going?"

"Yoga. Then lunch with Celine."

"Olivia, we need to talk about our finances."

"You should have thought about that before getting fired."

She walked to the door.

I followed her.

"I did not get fired because I made a mistake."

She turned around so fast her earrings swung.

"Then why did they choose you?"

The question was quiet.

Cruel because it sounded reasonable.

"Out of everyone in that company, why you?"

I stared at her.

Because I was useful enough to take the blame.

Because I knew too much.

Because I was too tired to build alliances while I was busy saving projects.

Because I thought hard work protected people.

Because I was stupid.

I did not say any of that.

Olivia took my silence as defeat.

"Exactly."

She opened the door.

"I need you to fix this, Ethan. Fast. I can't have people looking at me like I married the wrong man."

Then she left.

The apartment door closed.

I stood there in the quiet she left behind.

For a long time, I did not move.

Then my phone rang.

It was the company where I had an interview.

I answered immediately.

"Hello, this is Ethan Zhou."

A woman's voice came through, polite and distant.

"Mr. Zhou, I'm sorry. After internal review, we decided to cancel today's interview."

My fingers tightened around the phone.

"May I ask why?"

"The hiring team feels your profile may not match our current needs."

I knew that tone.

It was HR language for something they would not say.

"Did someone contact you about me?"

Silence.

Only half a second.

Enough.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Zhou."

The call ended.

I stood in the doorway of the apartment I had bought, holding a dead phone, listening to the city begin another ordinary morning outside.

My wife thought I had failed her.

My former company was already poisoning the road ahead.

And the day had not even reached ten o'clock.