THE MIDNIGHT FEAST
My name is Michael Carter. I’m thirty-four years old and live in a small suburban town in Ohio. I work as a delivery driver for a local logistics company. Every day, I drive an old, battered truck through neighborhoods, dropping off packages in exchange for a paycheck that barely covers rent, utilities, and a few simple meals.
My wife, Emily Carter, is two years older than me. We’ve been married for five years. Emily runs a small grocery stall at the local market—a space no more than ten square meters, selling instant noodles, eggs, milk, candy, soap, and other odds and ends. Her income is unstable. On good days, she might make a few dozen dollars. On slow days, she earns almost nothing.
We have a son, Lucas, who is three years old. Since Lucas was born, our lives have felt tighter—not because of space, but because of pressure.
Money.
It was always money.
1. The Complaints Begin
At first, Emily only sighed.
“Milk for Lucas is more expensive again this month.”
“The neighbors just bought a new car. I’m so jealous.”
“Michael, haven’t you been doing deliveries for years? Why is your salary still the same?”
I listened in silence. I understood. I felt helpless too.
Then the sighs turned into complaints.
“Don’t you think you’re incompetent?”
“Men your age are managers, business owners. And you? What are you?”
Emily began comparing me to our neighbor’s husband, David, a real estate agent who drove a luxury car and always looked sharp and confident.
“Look at David,” she said. “He comes home every day with his head held high. And you? You come back smelling of sweat, your clothes wrinkled and dirty.”
Each word stabbed directly into my pride.
I tried.
I took extra shifts, worked late nights, accepted longer routes. Some days I didn’t get home until nearly midnight, my body aching, my back screaming in pain. But the extra money was only a few dozen dollars—nowhere near enough to change anything.
Emily didn’t see my efforts. Or maybe she didn’t want to.
2. The Sentence That Broke Everything
One evening, just as I collapsed onto the couch after a long day, Emily suddenly said:
“If you can’t find a way to make more money, I’ll divorce you.”
I thought I’d misheard.
“What did you say?”
“I’m tired of being poor,” she replied coldly. “I don’t want Lucas growing up in a family like this.”
I stood up abruptly.
“You’re going to leave me?”
“I’ll take our son and go. I don’t want to spend my life with a useless man.”
I laughed—a dry, bitter laugh.
“Then go,” I said.
Emily froze.
“If you compare me to other men,” I continued harshly, “then compared to other women, you’re not prettier, not more talented. Do you really think you’ll find a man better than me?”
Emily didn’t answer. But the look in her eyes that night was colder than anything I’d ever seen.
3. The Strange Dinner
Three days after that argument, Emily suddenly changed.
No nagging. No comparisons. No insults.
That evening, when I got home, I smelled something unfamiliar—grilled meat. A smell I hadn’t sensed in this house for a very long time.
On the dining table was a lavish meal: grilled ribs, mashed potatoes, salad, buttered toast.
And… a bottle of red wine.
I froze.
Emily smiled.
“It’s been a long time since we had a proper dinner together.”
I looked at her, unease creeping into my chest.
Emily never liked alcohol. She had never once bought wine to drink with me.
“Have a little,” she said, pouring wine into a glass. “It’ll help you relax.”
I nodded—but inside, I was already on guard.
4. Pretending to Be Drunk
We clinked glasses.
The first glass.
The second.
I only wet my lips, swallowing very little, but I acted drunk—slurring my words, letting my face flush, letting my head slump forward.
Emily watched me, a strange flicker passing through her eyes.
“You’re drunk already?” she asked.
“Yeah… feeling dizzy…” I muttered.
I deliberately collapsed onto the couch, closing my eyes and breathing steadily like a man fast asleep.
Through barely opened eyelids, I saw Emily stand up and clear the table quickly. Soon, I heard faint clattering sounds.
The zip of a bag.
Rushed footsteps.
Then… the sound of the door opening.
My heart pounded.
5. The Night That Changed Everything
I jumped up and rushed outside.
Emily was standing on the porch, carrying a large bag in one hand and holding Lucas in the other. On the street, headlights from a car shone directly toward our house.
A black sedan.
Someone was sitting inside.
“Emily!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”
She flinched, turned around, her face pale for a moment—then she quickly regained her composure.
“I’m leaving,” she said coldly.
“Where are you taking our son?”
“Someone can give me a better life.”
I rushed forward and blocked her path.
“You can’t take my child like this!”
Emily shoved me hard.
“I don’t want Lucas growing up poor!”
We struggled. I grabbed Lucas, refusing to let go.
Emily screamed, hysterical.
Then she bent down and bit my arm hard.
Pain shot through me. My grip loosened.
Emily ran to the car, opened the door, climbed into the back seat, clutching Lucas tightly.
The engine started.
I stood frozen in the yard, watching the car disappear into the darkness.
The house behind me was unbearably silent.
6. Two Weeks of Hell
The next two weeks were a nightmare.
The house was empty.
No baby cries. No sound of Emily moving around in the mornings.
I drank. I drank until I lost track of time.
Every night, I dreamed of Lucas calling out, “Daddy.”
I didn’t know where my wife and child were. Emily had cut off all contact.
7. The One Who Returned
One rainy afternoon, as I sat hollow-eyed on the couch, the door suddenly opened.
Emily stood there.
Her clothes were torn. Her hair was a mess. Her face was gaunt, streaked with tears.
Lucas was pressed tightly against her chest.
Emily collapsed to her knees in front of me.
“Michael… please…”
She sobbed uncontrollably.
The man who had promised her money and comfort had only wanted to play with her. Once he was bored, he threw a few bills at her and kicked her and the child out.
No home. No money.
Emily looked at me with terror in her eyes.
“I know I was wrong… please forgive me…”
8. The Crossroads
I looked at her.
No anger.
No pain.
Just emptiness.
The woman kneeling before me was no longer my wife.
But Lucas was still my son.
I took him into my arms. Lucas wrapped his arms around my neck, pressing his head against my chest.
My heart tightened.
I knew… whether I forgave her or not, my life had already taken a different path from that night on.
And I—a poor man—finally understood something for the first time in my life:
Some things, once lost, can never be taken back.
