He Couldn't Stand the Smell of Peppers—But He Cooked Spicy for Another Woman

Ronald took a step closer. He noticed the shift in my emotions before I did. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. Then reached out and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. "Samantha." His voice dropped low, soothing. "It won't happen again. I promise." His other hand came up, his thumb brushing across the corner of my eye. That's when I realized my face was wet. "From now on, eat whatever you want. Spicy, anything. Don't worry about me. I was wrong. I shouldn't have kept you from touching peppers just because I didn't eat them." I didn't say a word. Because I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I wouldn't be able to stop crying. He waited. When I gave him nothing, he squeezed my hand gently, turned, and went to the bathroom to shower. His phone lit up on the coffee table. I didn't go looking through it. But the screen was facing up, and the notification preview popped on its own. 【Hey, you still up? Can you come a little earlier tomorrow? I can't handle the rush alone 🥺】 Contact name: Dorothy Baker. I stared at the text for three seconds. The screen dimmed, then lit up again. She'd sent a cutesy bunny sticker. Tomorrow was our third wedding anniversary. Three days ago, I'd forwarded him the restaurant reservation confirmation email, and he'd replied: "Sure, I'll make time." I'd booked the Italian place we used to go to when we were dating. The shower turned off. He came out in loungewear, hair half-wet, rubbing it carelessly with a towel. "Tomorrow's our anniversary. You remember, right?" I asked. My voice came out surprisingly calm. Ronald's hand paused mid-towel. He picked up his phone, glanced at the screen. I saw his lips twitch, almost imperceptibly. Then he set the phone down. "Tomorrow's not gonna work. Something came up." "What came up?" "Work stuff." He draped the towel over the chair back without looking at me. My heart throbbed with a dull ache. He wouldn't even bother inventing a specific excuse to placate me. He turned and disappeared into the study. The door was left ajar, lamplight leaking through the crack. The next evening, I went to the night market district downtown. The food truck lights had just flickered on. The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat and fried tortillas, crowds weaving between the trucks. I spotted them from fifty feet away. Ronald was crouched on the curb, peeling garlic. His custom dress shirt had the sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing a sliver of wrist. The expensive fabric brushed against the asphalt. One hand pinched a bulb while the other stripped away the papery skin with practiced ease. A plastic basin beside him was already half-full of peeled garlic cloves. Dorothy stood at the food truck's stovetop, tossing something in a wok. The spatula clanged against cast iron, a bright metallic rhythm. A gust of cooking smoke blew her way and she turned her head, coughing twice. Ronald was on his feet instantly, his palm flat against her back, patting gently. "I told you, let me handle the wok. You take a break." "No way." She shrugged her shoulders, her voice sweet. "You know mine tastes better." He let out a helpless laugh and crouched back down. "Fine. I'll be your sous chef." A regular nearby called out teasingly between bites. "Mr. Hernandez is gonna spoil our Dorothy rotten." Ronald didn't deny it. He even lifted his arm and draped it loosely around Dorothy's shoulders, pulling her into his side. "She deserves to be spoiled." The streetlamp cast a warm amber glow across his face, catching the soft curve of his smile. I stood rooted in place. What surfaced in my mind was a different scene entirely. Our first year of marriage. I was cooking alone at home when hot oil splattered onto the back of my hand. A searing burn. I called him. Ronald said he was in a meeting, his tone rushed, and then he hung up. The pain lasted an entire week. I drove myself to urgent care, applied the ointment myself, changed the gauze myself. He never once asked how I was. I turned my right hand over. The wound had healed long ago. Not even a scar remained. But the cold of sitting alone on a plastic chair in that ER hallway in the middle of the night was something I remembered vividly. I walked forward. "I hear your chili con carne is famous." I stopped in front of the food truck window, my voice clear. "I'd like to try it." Dorothy looked up, her face bright with a friendly grin. She was pretty in a sweet way, with two shallow dimples when she smiled. "Of course! My boyfriend makes the best chili in town. What heat level do you want? Mild, medium, or hot?" I looked at her. In my peripheral vision, Ronald's face had gone rigid. "Extra hot. As spicy as you can make it." Dorothy picked up a marker to write on the paper cup, then noticed Ronald hadn't moved. She nudged him with her elbow. "Babe, what's wrong? Go ahead, she's waiting." Ronald looked at me. His lips parted slightly. "I can't." He said. Dorothy blinked, her gaze bouncing between the two of us. Her smile faded a little and she asked in a low voice. "Babe... do you two know each other?" "She's... a colleague. From the office." Ronald looked me in the eyes and said those words. The evening wind swept through, and I felt like I'd been punched in the chest. A colleague. Three years. Three years of marriage. I was standing right in front of him, and he introduced me as "a colleague from the office." I stared at him, waiting for him to take it back. Waiting for an "I'm kidding." Waiting for any goddamn explanation at all. But he said nothing. He just stood there, his gaze shifting away, like a thief caught red-handed. The noise of the night market carried on around us. People laughing, someone calling out an order, spatulas clanging. But something inside me just broke.

"Right. We're coworkers." I heard myself say it. My voice was steady. I even managed to pull my lips into a polite smile. Ronald's eyes flickered. He probably hadn't expected me to play along so smoothly, so calmly, so cooperatively. Behind those usually composed eyes, something rare flashed through. He was caught off guard. I pulled out the folding chair beside the food truck and sat down. The word "colleague" seemed to put Dorothy completely at ease. Her smile returned in full. "Oh cool! You work with him? Then I really gotta impress you." She turned back to the stovetop. Ronald stood in place for a few seconds, then silently walked to the burners. I watched his long fingers grab a fistful of dried chili flakes and scatter them into the pan. Every movement was fluid, effortless. Cubed beef tumbled in a cast-iron skillet. The charred scent of Cajun spice mixed with the sharp bite of chili and rose into the air. He flipped the pan one-handed, his other hand drizzling in a spoonful of bourbon. Flames leapt up and fell back. A plate of Cajun blackened beef landed in front of me. The surface glistened, coated in a thick layer of reddish-brown chili powder. On the side sat a small bowl of creamy coleslaw. I picked up my fork, cut a piece of beef, and put it in my mouth. Spicy. The first bite hit my tongue like fire. The heat shot from the tip of my tongue up through my sinuses, straight to the top of my skull. I hadn't eaten anything spicy in so long that I could barely handle the intensity. Tears stung my eyes. I couldn't tell if they were from the peppers or from something else. Ronald stood two steps away, still holding the spatula. His fingertips tightened, then released. Dorothy watched from beside him, twisting the corner of her apron with visible unease. "Are you okay? That's like... really really hot. Want me to grab you some milk?" I didn't answer. I finished the last piece of beef and set down my fork. "Tastes great." I stood, looking at Dorothy. "Especially the spice. Perfect kick." Then I turned and walked away. From start to finish, I didn't look at Ronald again. I heard footsteps behind me, following for a step or two. Then Dorothy called out. "Babe!" The evening breeze hit my face and the tears turned cold against my skin. Back home, I sat in the living room without turning on the lights. I sat there for a long time. The chili had my stomach feeling like it was on fire. Three years without spice, and my gut couldn't handle it anymore. But strangely, I almost welcomed the pain. It made me feel awake. At eleven that night, Ronald pushed through the door carrying a bouquet of flowers and a jewelry box. His shirt still smelled like cooking smoke and his hair was slightly disheveled. He held out the flowers. "Happy anniversary." I took them. The plastic wrapping bore the logo of the corner convenience store. The petals were already darkening and curling at the edges. "I shouldn't have said that earlier." He stood in the entryway, kicking off his shoes as he spoke. "The colleague thing. That was wrong." I set the flowers on the coffee table and said nothing. "The important thing you had to do tonight was peel garlic at her food truck?" His hands froze halfway through loosening his tie. A few seconds of silence. He draped the tie over the armrest of the sofa. "Dorothy's landlord is jacking up the rent. She can't afford it. She was about to shut down. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing." He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like taking care of another woman was simply the right thing to do. "She's had no one her whole life, Samantha. You wouldn't understand." Suddenly I found all his high-minded talk laughable. "How many times have you slept with her?" I looked him straight in the eye. Ronald froze. Then his face darkened, his voice spiking with sudden anger. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He scowled, the words edged with unmistakable fury. "That's disgusting, Samantha." As if my asking the question was a grave insult to his character. "I have never even held her hand." Ronald seemed to have found his footing now, his voice growing more righteous by the second. "She's innocent. She's not like you, always jumping to those kinds of conclusions." I closed my eyes for a moment just to push down the tearing pain in my chest. He'd already forgotten. When he was pursuing me, he said what he loved most was my carefree spirit. He'd promised that I'd always be that carefree, happy girl with him. "Since you're so determined to push me away..." Ronald grabbed the jacket he'd just set down and turned toward the door, his voice cold as ice. "Fine. I'll go stay with her tonight. That's what you wanted to hear, right?" The door slammed shut. I sat on the sofa, listening to his footsteps fade into the distance. I felt the blood in my body turning cold, degree by degree. The transfer papers. I'd been planning to turn them down. Because part of me still thought maybe he cared about this marriage, at least a little. Maybe there was still some small reason to stay. Now I knew. He doesn't need me. I opened my email, clicked accept, and sent the final confirmation. The phone screen's glare stung my eyes. I blinked, and the tears fell.