The Last Bite

Margot watched her husband chew. Slowly. Deliberately. The spinach clung to his incisors like a small, dark confession, but she wouldn't tell him. Not tonight. Not after what she'd found on his phone at 2 AM, illuminated by the sudden flash of lightning that had woken her—the message from his assistant, the one that ended with 'can't wait to see you tomorrow.'

'You're quiet,' David said, swallowing. 'Something wrong with the salmon?'

'Perfect,' she said. 'Just thinking about work.'

She'd spent ten years building her department at the firm. Ten years of late nights, of being the one who always stayed, of eating whatever metaphorical spinach they put on her plate because that's what you did when you were the only woman in the room. You smiled. You endured. You let the men take credit while you did the actual work.

David was like that too. A bull in every sense—stubborn as hell, territorial, prone to charging at whatever threatened his ego. He'd never forgiven her for making partner before him. Never quite forgiven her for the raise, the corner office, the fact that their daughter took Margot's maiden name.

'Saw your mother today,' he said now, cutting into his fish. 'She says you haven't called.'

'Been busy.'

'Busy,' he repeated, making the word sound like an accusation. 'You're always busy lately.'

Lightning struck again, closer this time. The power flickered. In that split second of darkness, Margot made her decision. She'd called a divorce lawyer yesterday morning. She'd drafted the resignation letter this afternoon. The new job offer—startup, equity, nobody there would care if she called her mother or not—sat in her inbox, waiting.

'You know,' she said, setting down her fork. 'I've been thinking.'

David looked up, his expression wary. He could always tell when she was about to say something he wouldn't like. 'About what?'

She smiled, and this time she let it reach her eyes. 'About how sometimes you have to stop eating things you hate just because someone put them on your plate.'

The thunder that followed shook the windows, but Margot didn't flinch. She'd stopped flinching years ago—she'd just forgotten until this very moment, until the storm broke and something in her decided to break with it.