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My Fish-Hating Husband Fell for a Fishmonger Girl
Novelix
Completed
"Three years of marriage. Three years of eating fish alone on the back porch because my husband swore the smell made him sick. Then, on my thirtieth birthday, I caught him at the fish market — kneeling in guts, feeding sashimi to a pretty little mistress. He begged me to pretend I didn't know him. So I did. I pretended for good. I signed the papers. Boarded a plane. Built an empire overseas. A year later, I came home as the youngest CEO at a Fortune 500 — on the arm of the man who'd quietly loved me since college. Hunter came crawling back. Too late. Way too late."
Chapters (2)
Chapter 1
Three years of marriage, and Hunter and I never once shared a meal.
I lived on fish. Every meal. Hunter claimed the smell made him gag.
Once, I cooked fish at home. He threw his plate against the wall and froze me out for a solid month.
After that, I learned to play nice. He ate inside. I ate my fish out on the back porch.
Three years. Every single day.
Then my birthday rolled around. I drove down to the fish market to pick up some fresh fish for a stew.
I passed a new stall on the corner — and my heart just stopped.
Hunter was crouched on the ground. A ratty apron, smeared with fish guts, hung from his neck.
Knife in hand, he scaled and gutted the fish like he’d been doing it his whole life.
A young woman stood beside him with a plate of sashimi. She dipped a piece in soy sauce and fed it straight into his mouth.
He opened wide. Swallowed it down like candy.
The market was loud. Shouting, haggling, carts banging past.
But standing there in the middle of it all, I'd never felt so quiet inside.
Because just like that — I stopped loving him.
...
The market sat right by the docks. Fishermen rolled in all morning, dragging coolers past my ankles.
Loading. Unloading. Shouting prices.
By noon, the sun was blazing. The customers thinned out. The whole place reeked like rot.
I was still standing in that alley.
Hunter had been gutting fish since sunrise without lifting his head once.
Now, finally done, he peeled off his rubber gloves and let out a long breath.
The girl saw it and jumped in with a tissue, dabbing his forehead.
They smiled at each other.
He stroked her hair, soft as anything, and kissed her.
My chest cracked open.
Not because he was cheating. I'd already seen that part.
It was the three years of me tiptoeing around his lies. Three years of eating alone on the porch so he wouldn't smell fish on my breath. Three years of being ordered to rinse my mouth five times before he'd even touch me.
And this girl? She'd just fed him raw fish. No rinse. No fuss.
Right there, in the stink of dead fish, he was kissing her like she was oxygen.
My stomach rolled. I thought I might throw up.
I started walking.
My heels clicked on the pavement — click, click, click.
They heard me coming and jumped apart.
"Ma'am, can I help—"
Hunter had his customer-service smile on. Then he saw me and went white as a sheet.
I didn't look at him. Didn't care what his face was doing.
I pulled out my wallet and spoke to the girl.
"I'd like a fish. The biggest one you've got."
She didn't know who I was. She glanced back at the empty tanks, apologetic.
"I'm so sorry, pretty lady — we're all sold out. Can I take an order for tomorrow?"
I shook my head. Calm as a Sunday.
"I'm not late. I got here the moment this market opened."
Hunter stiffened. His fingers started to shake.
"Oh… then why are you only buying now?"
I smiled at her.
"Isn't now the perfect time? Besides, there's still one left."
She turned on instinct. Floating belly-up in the tank was a dead fish nobody'd bothered to toss.
She waved her hands fast.
"Honey, that one's dead. Not fresh. I can't sell you that."
I kept smiling.
"That's fine. It's dead, not dirty. Just knock a few bucks off the price."
"After all — today's my birthday."
Hunter's head snapped up. His face twisted.
The girl's eyes flickered. A little gleam of victory. She faked a reluctant nod.
"Well… okay. But my boyfriend can't clean it for you. He's been working all morning, poor thing's exhausted—"
I didn't even get to answer.
Hunter was already scooping the dead fish out, snapping his gloves back on.
"It's fine, Yuna. I got it. Just one more."
Yuna. So that was her name.
She shot me a sorry little smile, popped up on her toes, and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks, baby."
Something in my chest went tight. I couldn't breathe.
Hunter stunned the fish and glanced over.
"How do you want it?"
"Sashimi."
His hand froze again.
He pressed his lips together. Took forever to answer.
"This one's not fresh enough for sashimi. You'll get sick."
I looked at him. Something hot and sad crawled up my throat.
"Is this fish not fresh today? Or has it just never been fresh?"
He flinched. Dropped the knife. Threw the fish back in the tank.
"I'm sorry. I can't sell you this one."
"I always eat fish on my birthday."
He just stood there. Lost.
Yuna finally picked up on it. She tilted her head.
"Hunt… you two know each other?"
Hunter's eyes shot to mine, wild.
He was begging me. Begging me to say no.
Three years of marriage, and this was the first thing he'd ever actually asked me for.
And it was for her.
Whatever warm little ember I had left — it went out.
I closed my eyes. Gave him what he wanted.
"No. I don't know him."
Then I turned around. Eyes burning. And I walked.
What he didn't know, standing there in that bloody apron?
I wasn't walking away from the fish.
I was walking away from him.
---
Chapter 2
The second I got home, Hunter's texts started blowing up my phone.
"Wait for me. I can explain."
"I didn't forget your birthday. I have a gift. I'm on my way home…"
On and on. Dozens of them.
I didn't answer a single one.
I sat at my computer, staring at the overseas job offer sitting in my inbox. My cursor hovered over "Accept."
I kept scrolling through our memories. Three years dating. Three years married.
So much of it was good.
Or so I thought.
Now I couldn't tell what was real and what was a lie.
He swore he hated fish. Hated the smell.
Then he spent his mornings in the stinkiest fish market in town, kissing some girl who gutted trout for a living.
He was the youngest, most promising professor at the university. The gentle husband. The man who tipped waiters and held doors.
And just like that — he was on his knees in fish guts, for her.
Tears welled up but didn't fall.
The sun went down. The house got dark.
Night came.
Hunter never came home.
No explanation. No message. Nothing.
I pressed my hand against my mouth. And finally, I cried out loud.
That offer letter from a week ago? I clicked "Accept."
That's it. Done.
Then I called a lawyer. Had him draft divorce papers and start calculating our assets.
Hunter stumbled through the door past midnight.
I was on the couch. The papers sat on the coffee table in front of me.
He stood in the doorway, staring at the back of my head.
His first words weren't an apology. They were a confession.
"It's not what you think, me and Yuna."
"Four years ago, I was out at sea on a research trip. There was an accident. She saved my life."
"She's got nobody, Mia. Everything I do for her — it's just paying her back."
"She told me I'm the only person in her world. That she'd die without me."
"You're different. You have family. Friends. She's got nothing but me."
My chest ached all over again.
My eyes stung. I asked him, quietly:
"There are a thousand ways to pay back a debt, Hunter. You had to pick cheating?"
He exploded.
He ripped off his jacket and hurled it at the floor. Pointed his finger right at my face.
"Mia Lane!"
"What cheating? Yuna and I — one kiss! One goddamn kiss!"
"Nothing else happened!"
First time he'd ever yelled at me. Three years. First time.
I swallowed the knot in my throat.
"Okay. Fine. I accept that."
"But if you can eat her fish, why the hell couldn't I eat fish in my own house?"
He froze. The rage drained out of his face.
He walked over and pulled me into his arms.
The reek of fish hit me like a wall. My stomach rolled.
I tried to push him off. He held tighter.
"Mia honey, you don't get it. You're not like her."
"You're beautiful. You come from money. You've got parents who worship the ground you walk on."
"And her? She doesn't know who her parents are. She doesn't even know my real name."
"All she wants is for me to be there. She doesn't care about anything else."
"I had to give her *something*."
Something.
I laughed. Dry and ugly.
"So you gave her a lie about hating fish? And ate it with her instead?"
"No—"
"Then what?!"
"I promised her I'd only share meals with her. For life."
The room went dead silent.
I stared at him with red, exhausted eyes.
Whatever tiny flame I had left — the one still whispering maybe we can fix this — it died.
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
"Baby, don't look at me like that…"
I started clapping. Slow.
"Wow, Hunter. You're a goddamn saint. A real martyr."
"Even your meals come with a color-coded chart. Her plate, my plate — nice and separate!"
"Mia, stop—"
"I didn't break our vows. I didn't betray our marriage. I just—"
"Hunter!"
I said his name. He stopped.
His eyes shook.
I whispered it:
"I want a divorce."
The tears came with the words.
Because I'd never, not once, pictured a day I'd say that to him.
His pupils blew wide.
"Mia, no — that's not what I want! I never wanted to lose you!"
"I—!"
His phone rang.
He looked down at the screen. Whatever he was about to say died in his throat.
I said it softly:
"Answer it. She's calling this late — must be something serious."
He kept patting my shoulder as he walked to the window and picked up.
Like he wanted me to see he had nothing to hide.
He put it on speaker.
"Hunt! The tide came in — all the fish you caught for me today, they're gone! All of them!"
"I can't do this alone — please come help me!"
He turned and looked at me.
Pure begging in his eyes.
I dropped my gaze.
"Go, Hunter. Those fish are her whole livelihood, right?"
He practically sagged with relief. Didn't even say goodbye. Just grabbed his keys and bolted.
The door slammed shut.
The clock on the wall ticked past midnight.
Silence. Like no one had ever lived here.
I whispered to myself:
"Happy thirtieth birthday, Mia."
"From here on out, you throw your own parties."
---
