Chapter 3

I barely slept that night. My dreams were restless.

I dreamed of being little—Mom and Dad gathered around me, a birthday cake glowing with candles, telling me to make a wish.

I said I wanted fish on every birthday.

I dreamed of our wedding day. My father walking me down the aisle, handing me off to Ethan with tears in his eyes, pleading:

"My daughter has one simple love—fish. Promise me you'll never make her suffer for it."

Ethan promised without hesitation.

But when I woke up in the morning, the pillow was soaked with tears.

The other side of the bed was cold and empty.

Only a message on my computer confirmed that my flight for tomorrow's onboarding had been booked—reporting instructions attached.

I pulled myself together, drafted a resignation letter, and headed to the university where Ethan worked.

I'd had better job prospects once. But Ethan said he wanted us to see each other all the time.

I couldn't bear to be apart from him either, so I'd ignored my father's objections, given it all up.

Applied through the university's spousal employment program, went through the whole hiring process, and settled for an administrative position at the same school.

And now look at the wreckage.

On the way to the office building, a colleague spotted me and smiled:

"Clara! Here so early to see Professor Ethan?"

"Didn't he tell you? Three months ago, he moved all his morning classes to the afternoon."

I froze. Then nodded:

"He told me."

He hadn't told me.

Every morning, same as always, he'd said he was going to teach.

When really, he'd been getting up at dawn to help Mia gut fish.

A man who once refused to drag himself out of bed to pick up a package for me—getting up every single morning to butcher fish for another woman.

Laughable.

Truly laughable.

Not laughing at him.

At myself.

I walked into the office of the administrator who handled resignations.

Placed my letter on his desk.

He looked visibly startled:

"Clara? You're leaving?"

"Why? Does Professor Ethan know about this?"

I nodded, smiling:

"He's well aware."

Despite his suspicion, he stamped the papers.

Back at home, someone was cooking in the kitchen.

A girl with red-rimmed eyes sat on the living room sofa.

Mia.

She saw me and jumped to her feet:

"Clara—hi, I'm—"

I raised my hand.

Told her she didn't need to say any more.

I didn't even want to ask why Ethan had brought her here.

I headed for the bedroom to pack.

But Ethan, wearing an apron, called after me:

"Clara, wait."

I turned and looked at him—every inch the domestic husband.

Looked at the pot on the stove, fragrant with fish soup.

Three years, and he'd never once cooked for me.

I laughed.

Shook my head and reached for the bedroom door.

He grabbed my arm, frowning:

"I told Mia about us."

That surprised me. I stopped and looked at him:

"Shouldn't you have done that a long time ago?"

Ethan's face twisted with shame.

Mia walked over, head bowed, tears streaming:

"I'm so sorry, Clara. This is all my fault. I had no idea about you two."

"I've caused Ethan so much trouble. I've… I've already broken up with him."

"I won't bother you again."

I felt nothing. Not a ripple.

I turned to Ethan:

"The breakup—did you agree to it?"

Ethan choked, clearly not expecting me to remain unmoved.

He cleared his throat, sidestepped the question, and pulled both me and Mia to the dining table:

"Your birthday present."

"Fish soup. I made it myself."

I stared at the pot he set before me for a long time.

Ladled out a bowl. Tasted it.

It was delicious. Truly delicious.

But it was too late.

"Well? Is it good, Clara? Let me tell you—"

"Ethan, I've already signed the divorce papers. They're right there on the table. Sign whenever you get a chance."

"This home—I'm leaving it to the two of you."

I cut him off bluntly. His face went rigid.

I sighed, stood, and stepped away from the table.

Mia's face turned white. She kept gesturing frantically at Ethan.

Ethan's expression blackened. He slammed his palm on the table.

"Clara! Don't push your luck! Don't act like you're the victim here—Mia has it worse than you!"

"Ethan, stop—"

"No! She needs to hear this. She needs to know she has no idea how to be understanding!"

I stood still. Turned to face him:

"Go ahead, Ethan. What is it this time?"

His expression turned vicious. He hurled the words at me:

"Mia is carrying my child!"

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

All that was left inside me was a cold so sharp it burned.

His fury didn't stop:

"And yet she chose to break up with me—for the sake of our marriage!"

"She's going to raise this baby alone! She's going to be a single mother—can you even imagine how hard that will be?"

"Clara, even if I've done something wrong, I am your husband and you are my wife. Can't you show a little understanding? Does it have to come to this?"

I looked at Mia's belly. Paused for a moment.

Well. I should have seen this coming.

My eyes dimmed. I said quietly:

"Then as of right now, I am no longer your wife."

I turned and walked out the door, ignoring the raging shouts behind me.

All I took were my documents.

Everything else—I didn't need anymore.