On the day of the fake divorce, I was diagnosed with a "terminal illness"

Barry’s new secretary,

my husband’s new secretary,

posted a “depression diagnosis” on her social media.

The Photoshop job was laughably bad.

She had simply replaced the original name with her own.

That very day, after being away from home for days,

my husband rushed back

in less than thirty minutes.

He dropped to his knees in front of me,

crying so hard his voice cracked,

his forehead nearly slamming into the floor.

“Keira is sick.”

“I can’t divorce you. I can’t.

If I do, she’ll really kill herself.”

“Please. Let’s just have a fake divorce.

Once I calm her down, we’ll remarry. Okay?”

“One week. Just one week.”

I looked at him and nodded quietly.

He clearly hadn’t expected things to go so smoothly.

He froze for several seconds,then relief flooded his face.

“I won’t wrong you for long.

Really. I swear.”

Then he couldn’t wait to leave.

What he didn’t know was that there had already been no future for us.

The moment he knelt down,

I had finalized everything with my family.

As long as I divorced him,

I would leave this place for good and marry that man.

1.

We didn’t even wait until the next day.

That very afternoon,

he sent a driver to take me to the law firm.

Barry stood at the entrance,

wearing a purple suit.

The color was exactly the same

as the one he wore

the day we registered our marriage.

Even the way he looked at me,

that unmistakable joy,

was identical.

Only this time,

the source of that joy

had already changed.

He pulled a car key from his pocket

and pressed the button toward a Rolls-Royce Cullinan not far away.

The headlights blinked.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

“This is a gift for you.”

“One week.

I promise that after one week, we’ll remarry.”

I held the key,

my chest tightening painfully.

To placate his new lover,

he really spared no expense.

Over the years,

the secretaries around him

had come and gone endlessly.

All young.

All pretty.

All obedient.

At first, it was ambiguous.

Later, shamelessly public.

I argued.

I cried.

I broke down.

And lost

every single time.

Eventually, I learned to endure.

I told myself he would get bored soon,

just like before.

That no matter how far he strayed,

he would circle back to me.

But this time was different.

That “depression diagnosis,”

probably downloaded from some random website,

made him consider divorce seriously

for the first time.

The breakup fees he had paid those “little puppies” over the years were worth far more than ten Cullinans.

I slipped the key into my pocket.

For the coming days,

I did need a car.

When I walked out of the law firm,

Keira was standing by my car.

I unlocked it.

She pretended to be surprised and looked at Barry.

“Oh?

Is this Chloe’s breakup compensation?”

She hooked her arm around Barry’s,

smiling gracefully and triumphantly,

then waved at me.

“This is what you deserve, Chloe.”

“Thank you for completing

my sister and me’s true love.”

“We’ll definitely send you a wedding invitation.”

Smack.

No one expected Barry to slap her.

The air froze instantly.

He lowered his voice and apologized to me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would come,

or say such things.”

Tears immediately streamed down Keira’s face.

She looked like the victim.

“Sister,

I was just worried you wouldn’t have time

to try on wedding dresses,

so I came to pick you up.”

So that was it.

No wonder he was so eager to divorce.

They had already started planning the wedding.

How thoughtful of them,

putting on such an elaborate show

just for me, the old one.

I couldn’t be bothered to watch anymore.

I opened the car door and got in.

Barry chased after me,

leaning over the window,

and tossed a black card inside.

“Buy whatever you want.

Go wherever you want.”

“No limit.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

I picked up the card

and tossed it straight at Keira’s face

through the open window.

In the end,

I had somehow become

the third party

who could be dismissed with money.

“Keep your money.”

“I hope after I’m gone,

you still have enough

to maintain this so-called love.”

My thoughts drifted back

seven years ago.

Seven years ago,

I was in a severe car accident

and became a vegetative patient.

During those days in the hospital bed,

I couldn’t even open my eyes.

My consciousness was clear,

yet my body refused to move.

Trapped in a body stripped of all dignity,

I had no choice.

It was Barry

who pulled me back

from hell.