The Debt of Affair

My name is Lydia Larsen, and I have been married to Frankie Carr for three years. Frankie is a retired soldier, always carrying that tough, military edge. Every day when he goes out, whether to the company or to the market, he unfailingly wears his camouflage uniform. In his words, these clothes feel comfortable, and they always remind him that he used to be a soldier. Whenever a popular young actor shows up on TV, he sneers and mutters, "No backbone, just painting on makeup." I'd long gotten used to his look; sometimes I even found his bluntness kind of endearing. That weekend, both of us were off, and Frankie Carr said he wanted to go out for a meal to change up our diet. I was pretty happy, thinking I finally wouldn't have to cook and could just relax. Who would've thought that picking a place to eat would become such a huge headache. We first went to a well-reviewed private kitchen, but the moment we stepped inside, Frankie Carr's brows knitted together. The waiter handed him the menu, and after flipping through just a few pages, he slammed it down on the table, sounding annoyed: "These dishes are way too fancy." "There's so little food—it's gone in one bite. How's that enough for a man?" I quickly tried to convince him, "They specialize in delicate dishes, and they taste great. Let's give it a try, okay?" He shook his head and walked out without looking back. "No way. It's not worth it, not satisfying to eat." I had no choice but to follow him out. Then, we went to a chain restaurant. As soon as we sat down, Frankie Carr glanced around and started complaining again: "This place is way too noisy. You have to shout just to be heard, and you can't even enjoy your meal." I felt a bit helpless: "So what kind of place are you looking for?" He rubbed his chin, thought for a moment, and said, "We need somewhere down-to-earth, with big portions and strong flavors." We wandered the streets for nearly an hour, our legs almost aching, until finally, Frankie's eyes lit up and he pointed ahead: "This is the one!" I looked up at the shop sign that read "Mars BBQ." The place wasn't very big, but it looked lively. As I stepped inside, the aroma of grilled meat hit me, and Frankie Carr finally broke into a satisfied smile. We found a spot and sat down. When the waiter came over to take our order, Frankie expertly ordered grilled kidneys, lamb skewers, and beef tendons, making sure to ask for extra spice. While waiting for the food, Frankie started chatting with the owner, asking if he had ever served in the military. The owner smiled and shook his head: "No, I haven't. I just like the old soldier theme—it feels meaningful, so I decided to open this place." The moment he heard that, Frankie Carr's smile vanished instantly, and his brow furrowed once again. He started looking around, complaining that "this table isn't clean," then saying "the smoke from this grill is too strong; it's choking me." Watching his sudden change in mood, I felt a little uneasy inside. Then he began recalling his days in the military unit, saying that back then, when they grilled meat together with comrades, that was true fun — big chunks of meat, and it was such a satisfying feast. He babbled on and on, completely unaware of the growing sourness on my face. I couldn't help but interrupt him: "Enough with the past. Can't we just eat in peace now?" Frankie Carr paused, shot me a displeased look, and said, "What's wrong with me talking? The days in the military unit were unforgettable—you wouldn't understand anyway." Feeling even more uncomfortable, I didn't argue. I just silently picked up my chopsticks and started eating the kebabs. Halfway through the meal, Frankie Carr went to the restroom, leaving his mobile phone on the table. I wasn't paying attention at first, but then the mobile phone screen suddenly lit up, and a message preview popped up. I glanced over unintentionally and saw a soft, cute cat emoji following the message—big round eyes and rosy cheeks, looking especially adorable. I was stunned. Frankie Carr usually hated this kind of cute stuff the most. Who would be sending him the emoji? And besides me, none of his contacts seemed like the kind to send the emoji. My heart was filled with doubts, but before I could think any further, Frankie came back from the bathroom. I quickly shifted my gaze away, pretending to focus on eating the kebabs, but my mind kept drifting back to that cat emoji—I had this nagging feeling that something wasn't right. On the way home after dinner, I tried several times to ask Frankie Carr about that emoji, but when the words reached my lips, I swallowed them back. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe it was just something a friend had casually sent? I tried to reassure myself like that, but the uneasy feeling just wouldn't go away.