My husband is a famous philanthropist who often goes out to help unemployed girls.
At first, I could still hold back my jealousy and support him. But gradually, he brought those girls home, took over my bedroom, had them wear my pajamas, and even ordered me in the middle of the night to run errands to buy condoms for them.
At that moment, I knew the marriage I had been carefully maintaining had already rotted to the core.
On our fifth anniversary, I asked him for a divorce. What I got was cold mockery.
"Grace Chapman, you're not a kid anymore. A thirty-year-old woman should have recognized the facts long ago. Without me, it won't be easy for you to remarry."
I wiped away the tear at the corner of my eye, took off the plain silver ring on my hand, and threw it into the trash can.
"You're right. Not young anymore, so if I got on the wrong ride, I need to get off in time."
——
After tearing up the divorce agreement, Derek Gentry smoked in the living room the entire night.
Early in the morning, he walked into the bedroom to persuade me to think more openly.
"Chloe is only staying here for a few days. If you're making a fuss about divorcing me because of her, there's really no need."
Meeting his poisonous gaze, my heart cooled inch by inch. My thoughts flew all over the place, and I couldn't help recalling the densely packed photos of different girls in his phone. Recently, he seemed to have settled down and become devoted.
The company was buzzing with gossip that he had fallen for the ninety-ninth unemployed girl he'd helped—Chloe Thomas. Not only did he set aside a lounge in the office for her, he even custom-ordered a king-size bed from overseas, taking care of her every comfort.
Everyone was betting that this naive little thing had the ability to hook Derek so thoroughly he wouldn't come home for three months. She would be the future Mrs. Gentry.
Halfway through the negotiation, Derek answered a phone call and hurried out. Before leaving, he turned back to me.
"Grace Chapman, you need time to calm down. I'll schedule you an appointment with a psychologist."
A tear fell silently.
In the hardest year, I stayed with him in a temporary prefab room built with corrugated metal on the top floor. In summer it was so hot I wanted to jump from the 68th floor.
Back then, I wasn't sick.
Yet after he became successful and sat on billions in assets, I became, in everyone's eyes, a hysterical mental patient.
The phone beside me vibrated twice and automatically popped up a string of photos. At the very bottom was a provocative line of text.
"Grace, do I look good in a wedding dress? Derek said I'm so beautiful I look like a princess—he isn't just humoring me, is he?"
In the image, Chloe Thomas wore a white gown, her slender arms hooked around Derek's neck, her face full of smug triumph.
My fingertips gripping the phone gradually turned white.
So Derek Gentry, in the middle of being so busy, could still make time to take wedding photos. He looked even more handsome and distinguished in a groom's outfit than I had imagined.
We had been married five years and had never taken wedding photos. Not once.
In the past, it really was because we had no money.
Derek had promised me.
"Grace, when I get my first paycheck, I'll make you the happiest bride in the world."
"You're into diamonds, right? You say they represent eternity. One day, I'll custom-make you a wedding dress inlaid with diamonds."
"Okay, it's a deal."
I had responded with a sweet smile.
Later, his business got bigger and bigger. He often didn't come home at night, and the wedding photos he promised me became nothing but a mirage.
I gave a self-mocking smile, and my tears could no longer be stopped.
Derek Gentry, you really broke your word so many times.
I waited until 3:00 a.m., and that door finally opened, just as I expected. Chloe Thomas was supporting Derek, who was drunk as mud, back inside.
"Derek, can you hold on for a bit? There's still someone at home."
