The day I received the diagnosis of advanced gastric cancer was Ethan Cole and my third wedding anniversary.
I called him. The other end was noisy, with the faint sound of a woman's charming laughter.
"What's up? I'm busy."
His voice was as impatient as ever.
Clenching the thin piece of paper that had been enough to crush my life, I whispered, "Ethan, let's get a divorce."
The other end of the line fell silent.
After a moment, he scoffed. "Natalie Sanders, what are you up to? You're even saying something like that to force me to come home?"
"How many times this month have you threatened me with divorce?"
I said nothing more and hung up silently.
Yes, I've mentioned it many times, but never more seriously than now.
My phone vibrated. It was a text from Ethan.
"Stop it. I need to be with Amber tonight. She's scared to be alone."
Amber Blake, the name of his beloved. I gazed out the window at the dark night and smiled silently.
Ethan, would you be even a little sad if I died?
——
I regained my thoughts as my phone screen lit up again.
It was a photo, sent by Ethan.
The photo showed a dazzling diamond necklace and next to it was a card reading “Happy Third Anniversary”.
It was the same style I'd casually mentioned two years ago.
And then came his message.
[This is for you. Stop being so mad.]
I looked at the necklace and imagined Amber wearing it.
A sharp pain stabbed in my stomach and I covered my mouth, trying not to make a sound.
Late at night, I sat in the dark living room, waiting for him.
The sound of the door lock turning came from outside. He was back.
The pungent smell of alcohol mingled with a sweet perfume—Amber's favorite.
He limped, groping in the darkness and hugged me. "Amber..."
"Don't be angry. I'm back, aren't I?"
"I know you've been wronged. Wait for me. Soon... I'll give you a real name."
His warm breath fanned my neck, yet I felt a chill running down my spine.
I didn't move or speak like a soulless puppet, letting him hold me.
He held me like this, whispering sweet nothings.
Those vows I'd once dreamed of now sounded so ironic.
I didn't know how long it took, but he seemed to sober up a little.
He could see my face clearly in the dim light from the window.
The tenderness and love flashed in his eyes faded instantly, giving way to disgust.
"Why are you here?"
He stepped back, as if he'd touched something dirty.
His gaze fell on the coffee table, where my signed divorce agreement lay.
He walked over, picked up the papers, glanced at them, scoffed and tore them to shreds right before me. A scrap of paper rained down.
"Natalie, your tricks are getting more and more."
"I'm warning you, don't bother me with this kind of thing again. Amber isn't feeling well, so what's wrong with me staying with her?"
He turned, took two steps, then stopped, not even turning back.
"Clean up the garbage."
Looking at the shredded paper on the floor, I slowly squatted down and picked up the pieces individually.
I din't know how long it took, but I stood up, walked to his door and knocked gently.
There was no response.
I leaned against the door and whispered.
"Ethan, I'm not kidding."
