“Lee-hyung! It’s been such a long time! I tried calling you a few times, but the line was always disconnected. I wondered if something had happened in your family... Are you two doing well?”
“Well, we’re like museum pieces—unchanging.”
We moved to Manhattan and even gave up our phone number, the same one we’d had for over 30 years. When people asked my husband if we had separated, he just told them we were doing fine.
Friends we hadn’t heard from in a while reacted with curiosity—
“Are they separated? Divorced?”
Years ago, my husband lived in Seoul for a year to teach, and we were apart during that time too. The kids, in their awkward Korean, would write letters asking, “Why isn’t Dad coming home?”
Some friends, after hesitating, cautiously asked me,
“Did you two get divorced?”
Even our Hispanic neighbor, who hadn’t seen my husband for almost a year, peeked over the backyard fence and started flirting with me.
People always remember those they've had a connection with—whether with resentment, gratitude, or longing. This old friend who called after so long was someone I remembered with gratitude. I hoped to invite him to dinner someday.
Back in the day, New York real estate developers would swoop into run-down areas where artists gathered, like hawks spotting prey from the sky. He was one of those people—he never ignored the ideas of artists, fashion designers, or musicians around him. He would gather those little inspirations and, using his own artistic sense, turn them into successful ventures. He was also known for being generous to people in need. They even called him “Mr. I’ll-buy-you-a-meal.” In cutthroat New York, that’s a warm and rare nickname.
He’s divorced now. Before coming to a dinner party with several of us, he asked, “Can I bring my wife?”
Wife? Did he remarry? Who is she? I was very curious.
Suddenly, the room brightened as he walked in, looking healthy and full of energy.
“Lee-hyung~!” he called out.
He was with a woman who looked somewhat familiar.
“I feel like we’ve met before,” I said.
She simply smiled gently without saying much.
“Where have I seen her?” I asked my husband.
“Seen her? You probably thought the wife of a major corporation’s CEO just walked in.” he replied.
Seeing his bright, confident face made me realize something clearly:
It’s better to end an unhappy marriage and start fresh than to suffer in it. Life is too short.
I turned to my husband and asked,
“Are we happy in our marriage?”
He didn’t answer right away. After a long pause, he finally said,
“Well… we should try to think we’re happy. What else can we do? We’re museum pieces, remember?”