“Let’s just table this conversation,” he said dismissively.

And for a few weeks, we did table the conversation. I hoped that he wouldn’t bring it up again because I couldn’t understand why it was even a conversation.

“Are you struggling financially, Lisa?” my mother asked me when I told her about Tom’s suggestion over a mother-daughter pasta date.

“No, not at all,” I replied. “Look, we’re not difficult people, we’re not fancy, so our lives are easy to manage and sustain. It’s the fact that Tom was really pushing for this.”

“Do you think his business isn’t doing well?” she asked, sipping on her drink.

“That can’t be it,” I replied. “I’ve seen the number of cars that come in and out on a weekly basis. It’s enough to turn a profit. And he’s been employing new staff constantly. That’s also a good thing.”

“Then what is it?” my mother asked.

“I have no idea,” I said, adding more grated parmesan onto my pasta. “But I do know that I don’t have the time for a second job. I cook and clean in between sitting at my laptop. I do groceries during my lunch breaks, and I take the dogs to the vet or whatever during those times, too. I just can’t see it working out.”

“You have to tell him, darling,” my mother said. “You have to make it known that you cannot take on an added responsibility that’s going to leave your cup empty.”

Everything was fine until we decided that it would be better to sell my car and buy a new one.

“I told you, Lisa,” Tom said over dinner one night. “You need to get that second job.”

He cut into his steak, his knife grating against the fork.

“Why me?” I asked, incredulous. “I already work long hours, and my job is exhausting. I have to look at a screen the entire day and pay attention. By the end of the day, my eyes are sore and my brain is exhausted. And then I have to worry about dinner and laundry and everything else.”

“Your job is easy, Lisa,” he replied. “You’re trying to make it seem worse than it is. You work from home, remember? You don’t have to leave this house. And you don’t get as tired as I do because you’re not getting beneath cars every single day.”

I was stunned.

“Why don’t you get another job? You can do it on the days you have off!”

“Because, then, Lisa,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, “I’d miss bowling with my friends!”

He said it as if it was the most logical reason in the world.

Seriously? It was the stupidest reason in the world to me.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll look around.”

My husband looked as though Christmas had come early.

“Good,” he said. “That settles it.”

I watched as he picked up his plate and left it on the kitchen counter, not even trying to empty the rest of the food into the garbage.

If he wanted me to find a second job, I would. But I knew that he would hate what I had in mind.

The next day, as Tom left for work, he popped his head into my home office.

“Don’t forget to start looking for a job,” he said. “And try harder with my work overalls, Lisa. There are some grease stains that refuse to come out. It’s embarrassing.”

With that, he walked out.

“Goodbye to you, too,” I muttered as he walked away.

Then, I went onto the bowling alley website. It was the place that Tom and his friends played at. I had always wondered why they frequented the little place because it was dark and unwelcoming to me.

“Oh, come on, Lisa,” Jill said. “We both know that Tom and Marcus go for the waitresses in the short dresses.”

Marcus was Tom’s best friend, and Jill was his wife. Once, we had all been invited to the bowling alley for the venue’s anniversary, and after Jill and I saw the place, we never went back.

My plan was simple: get a job at the bowling alley for the night shifts and make my husband jealous enough to regret his suggestion.

On my first day at the bowling alley, a Wednesday, which was the weekly bowling night for Tom and his friends, I asked him if he was going bowling.

“Are you going to the bowling alley tonight? Do you want to have dinner at home before you go?” I asked casually, as I made some breakfast.

“Yeah, probably,” he said, not looking up from his phone. “Make some fish and chips or something like that.”

“Fine,” I said with a smile. “See you there!”

His eyes finally met mine, confusion flickering across his face, but he shrugged it off.

“Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for,” I said to myself as he walked out the door.

That evening, I arrived at the bowling alley in my new uniform: a tight, short dress that left little to the imagination. I couldn’t imagine that my husband would be fine with me wearing such a thing.

“I’m sorry about the uniform,” Ursula, the manager, said. “I’ve tried to make changes and even add stockings or leggings to it, but the owner is adamant that it stay like this.”

“That’s just a sick thought,” I said.

I tended the drink stall, occasionally leaning over to fry the miniature donuts that were quite popular among the teenagers bowling away.

I saw Tom arrive alone and start playing by himself. As the first hour went by and the teenagers began to leave to meet their curfews, the men began to get rowdy. As expected, the men began to hit on me.

Finally, my husband spotted me, his eyes darkening as he watched the attention.

“What the hell, Lisa?” Tom stormed over, eyes blazing. “What are you doing?”

“I’m working, Tom,” I said with a smirk. “You wanted me to get a second job, remember?”

“This isn’t what I meant!” he yelled.

“Well, I’m getting great tips,” I retorted.

My husband’s jaw clenched.

“Quit. Now,” he barked.

“We need the money,” I said, walking away to serve another table.

Tom went back to bowling, not wanting to cause a bigger scene. But I knew that the moment my shift was over, he would be back on the topic.

He kept glancing at me every few minutes.

About halfway through my shift, Ursula approached me.

“Is he bothering you too?” she asked, nodding toward Tom.

“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.

Ursula sighed a deep sigh.

“That man has seduced almost all the waitresses here. One even had his child two weeks ago. I heard that she’s after him for child support now. Apparently she did a paternity test to prove it and all.”

I knew that Ursula had no idea that I was married to Tom, so there wasn’t a need to lie or mask the truth. What she had just told me was a version of Tom that I didn’t know existed.

So, that’s why he wanted me to get a second job. He wanted me to pay for his child support.

I marched over to Tom, ignoring the eyes of the other patrons.

“You’re a disgusting human!” I screamed, slapping him hard across the face.

“What the hell, Lisa?” he yelled, holding his cheek.

“You’ve been involved with the waitresses here?! And one just had your baby?” I spat, tears streaming down my face.

Tom’s face went pale.

“I can explain,” he stammered.

“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it. You will pack your things and get out tonight. Tomorrow, I will file for divorce.”

I stormed out of the bowling alley, my heart shattered. Who was the man that I had married?