After a few seconds of silence, a shriek erupted.

"Are you kidding? You really want to go abroad?"

I confirmed, and Summer became even more excited.

"Of course! With your skills, big companies will be scrambling for you."

"Wait, I'll finish up here, and we'll talk properly when we meet!"

Around 9 PM, John surprisingly arrived on time.

He carried several takeout containers straight into the kitchen.

Because of his OCD, John couldn't cook normally.

The smell of cooking would make him nauseous.

Let alone cooking voluntarily.

Entering the kitchen was already remarkable.

"You said you wanted to eat Sichuan food, didn't you? I contacted the chef before work to prepare it; I just need to heat it up."

John carefully placed the containers in the microwave and turned the dial.

In his eyes, was this the best "compensation" he could offer?

After heating the food, John wore disposable gloves.

He placed the uniformly colored and shaped plates on the table, carefully adjusting their positions.

Until every plate was at the perfect angle.

"Eat. Remember to start with the vegetables, then the meat…"

John stared at me, even counting my chews.

Fearing that I’d chew too many times and disrupt his established order.

"Sarah, don't chew on the right side, you're doing it too much. Switch sides…"

"There's less than half the broccoli left, eat more meat first…"

A normal dinner was torture in this house.

To please John, even my eating habits were controlled.

But for Jessica, these restrictions seemed nonexistent.

This girl, fresh out of art school, quickly became John's most frequent model.

At first, he patiently corrected her poses and expressions.

Once, I was there when Jessica finished a photoshoot.

She patted John's shoulder and whispered:

"John, thanks for your hard work today."

This shocked everyone present; we nervously watched John, unable to speak.

He hated unauthorized physical contact.

Even getting too close would infuriate him.

Surprisingly, he remained calm, unfazed.

I thought John was overwhelmed by work.

But a month ago, Jessica caught a bad cold from a shoot in ice water.

John went straight to her house and took care of her.

He carefully wiped her body with a wet towel.

Before giving her medicine, he'd taste-test the temperature and flavor.

I accidentally found this on Jessica's private Weibo account.

Why was John so resistant when I needed care?

Fearing infection, he moved to a hotel.

After I recovered, he hired a cleaner to thoroughly clean the house.

He found it dirty, even throwing away my bedding and buying a new set.

Soon, I finished my dinner.

John stepped back, softly saying:

"No need to wash the dishes, the cleaner will come later, you can rest."

I put down my chopsticks, looking up at the overhead light.

The bright light was dazzling.

After calming down, I realized the inconsistencies.

John didn't dislike dirt; he disliked me.

I took a deep breath and looked at him.

Finally uttering the words I’d been contemplating:

"John, let's get a divorce…"