My Ex-husband Cried and Begged for Remarriage

On the seventh wedding anniversary, Michael and his lover made a high-profile declaration of love on Twitter.

"Our love was true and unchanging for life."

I asked him why it had to be tonight.

He took a moment to reply: [Because this day is important to you! If you get angry, she'll be even happier!]

I used my main account to like and share their post, wishing them eternal love. The post went viral and was quickly deleted.

Michael's scolding phone call came as expected.

"I was just trying to make her happy. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it? It's disgusting!"

The next moment, I received a photo of them sharing a French kiss from his lover.

In the past, I would have made a huge scene, causing chaos.

But this time, I chose to leave calmly.

——

Michael returned home in the early morning.

I was awakened by the noise he was making.

"Sofia, I was just out for one night. Are you going to make a big deal out of it?" Michael said.

I opened the door and looked at the mess on the dining table. I didn't say a word and went straight to wash up.

Michael had OCD. I knew he couldn't stand the mess left after my solo candlelight dinner.

In the past, I would have cleaned up and stubbornly waited for him, who wouldn't come home until dawn.

But last night, after seeing the French kiss photo Gianna sent, I suddenly felt relieved.

I had a bit of red wine and fell asleep peacefully. Not having to stay up waiting for Michael with the light on while sleeping on the couch felt really nice.

"I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?" Michael said.

I spat out the toothpaste and mumbled, "If you can't stand it, clean it up yourself."

Michael's face looked awful.

Surprisingly, he actually rolled up his sleeves and started cleaning up the mess I left behind.

He frowned when he noticed I had drunk ten bottles of red wine.

"Did you drink all of this by yourself?"

When we got married, we made ten bottles of wine together and agreed to open one every ten years to celebrate.

But yesterday, I drank a glass by myself.

I poured out the rest.

I didn't want to explain, so I casually nodded.

He was beyond shocked and then seemed to assume I was drowning my sorrows in alcohol.

"I couldn't get your favorite burger. But there's seafood spaghetti from the place next door. Have some for now, and I'll cook you some hangover soup!"

"Okay."

Hitting me with a stick and then offering me a sweet date was Michael's usual way of handling me.

I didn't call him out on it.

Ten minutes earlier, Gianna posted something on Twitter.

"Someone went to the dock before dawn to buy the freshest seafood just to make me a plate of spaghetti. I'm bursting with happiness."

In the photo, Michael wore a pink apron focused on preparing seafood.

I opened the lunchbox. The seafood spaghetti was already cold.

There were only a few slices of green onion and celery leaves inside, with no seafood at all.

As I threw it into the trash, Michael turned around.

"Sofia! I went out of my way to stand in line and buy that for you. Don't be ungrateful!" Michael said.

He thought that if he lied to be nice, I should just let it go.

I told him with no expression, "I can't eat seafood lately."

His hand paused while cutting ginger.

"Bit... you're so picky!"

I knew what he originally wanted to curse at me.

After cursing, he restrained his anger and focused on cooking the hangover soup for me.

But this focus couldn't compare to the attention he gave when preparing the seafood.

When a message came in on his phone, he signaled for me to hand it to him.

I glanced at it. It was from Gianna.

I read the message to him directly, "Michael, I'm the happiest woman in the world."

Michael didn't expect me to read it out in a mocking tone. He instantly flew into a rage and smashed the plate he was holding onto the ground.

"Will you die if you don't act like a bitch?"

The shards cut across the top of my foot, sending a sharp pain through me.

I stared at the blood gushing from my foot and mocked him, "Isn't that exactly how Gianna talks to you?"

Michael was squeamish about blood and immediately leaned on the stove. He cursed at me in a panic, "You're so stupid. Don't you know to step away? Don't think getting hurt on purpose will make me feel sorry for you!"

I ignored him and turned to find the first aid kit to stop the bleeding.

When I realized the bleeding wouldn't stop, I quickly bandaged the wound and was about to go to the hospital. But Michael insisted I drink the hangover soup before leaving.

I wasn't drunk at all, and I didn't want to drink anything he made.

In the scuffle, the hot hangover soup spilled all over Michael's hand, causing blisters to form immediately.

He hissed softly but didn't curse too harshly.

"You're deliberately making things difficult for me, aren't you? Fine, now we can go to the hospital together." Michael said.