He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Nash returned to what used to be called "home"—now just an empty shell—and for the first time understood what true desolation felt like.
Lila hadn't owned much, but what she'd taken with her was all the life this house had ever held.
He'd grown accustomed to the warm lamp glowing in the entryway when he came home, the dinner kept warm on the table, and the person who was always waiting for him.
Now, there was nothing.
He irritably loosened his tie and called Sofia.
"Come to my place."
Twenty minutes later, Sofia came.
But she was no longer the meek, gentle intern who used to be so docile around him.
She strutted through the house like she owned it, critically eyeing the small decorative items Lila had left behind.
"Get rid of all this tacky stuff—it's an eyesore."
As she spoke, she casually picked up a cartoon cat mug from the table, preparing to toss it in the trash.
"Don't touch it!" Nash almost instinctively shouted.
That was Lila's favorite mug, used for years, the rim slightly faded.
Sofia jumped, then pouted in displeasure.
"What are you yelling for? It's just a stupid mug. Nash, are you really going to cut ties with her or not? If you're still thinking about her, we're done!"
In the past, he would have found Sofia's petulance adorable.
Now, he just found it grating.
Looking at that mug, he felt a strange anger rise up for the first time—not at Lila, but a protective fury over something that belonged to her.
He remained silent, and Sofia, getting no response, stormed out.
For the first time, Nash didn't chase after her.
But Sofia's departure didn't bring Nash relief—instead, it sent him plummeting into an abyss of memories.
He wandered the house alone like a lost soul.
He opened the medicine cabinet he'd never bothered with before and found all the medications carefully labeled and organized, with dosages and instructions written in Lila's cute handwriting.
He opened the closet to find all his shirts and pants arranged by color, even his ties stored on specialized racks, everything perfectly organized.
Only then did he realize with painful clarity that his supposedly elite lifestyle, every well-ordered detail he'd taken pride in, had been a fortress built by Lila's time and patience.
And he—had torn it down with his own hands.
He began frantically searching for traces of her existence.
Finally, in the deepest drawer of his study, he found an unremarkable tin box.
Inside were ticket stubs from their first movie together, discount coupons from that cheap restaurant near campus, and a candid photo of him shooting hoops on the basketball court. On the back, in small writing—
"My sunshine."
Longing grew wild from his heart, sprouting into countless thorns that pierced him completely.
He collapsed on the floor, replaying the details of their divorce day over and over.
Like some form of self-torture, he replayed it endlessly.
"Lila," he whispered to himself, "what were you feeling when you walked away that last time?"
But no one answered him.
The cold water blurred his vision, his thoughts slowly being pulled back to the past.
When had Lila stopped loving him?
Was it when he ignored her father's life?
When he celebrated Sofia's birthday?
When he took Sofia to that seafood restaurant?
Or was it from that day he scolded her mother...
It seemed like the root of everything was that damned seafood.
Suddenly, a crazy idea took shape in his head.
What if...
What if I ate it for her?
What if I proved in the way that mattered most to her that I was willing to die for her—would she... would she look back at me just once?
Like grasping at the last straw, he drove frantically to Providence.
He sat by the window and ordered a table full of seafood - steamed grouper, salmon salad, lobster pasta... exactly the same dishes Lila's mother had made that day.
The server kindly reminded him: "Sir, you can't eat all this by yourself."
Nash's eyes were red, his voice hoarse: "Just bring the food!"
He picked up a piece of white fish, trembling as he put it in his mouth.
The fishy taste he'd despised for decades exploded in his mouth, his throat immediately burning with that familiar itch.
He ignored it all, swallowing in large gulps like he was performing some sacred ritual.
"Lila, look..." he said through tears, his face wearing a twisted smile, "I ate it... I ate it for you..."
Red welts quickly spread from his neck to his entire face, breathing became increasingly difficult.
Before losing consciousness completely, he used his last bit of strength to call 911.