Chapter 1

Nine years. From high school sweethearts to what should have been our ninth wedding anniversary. That's how long I'd been with Ethan Reed when I found thirty-eight divorce decrees hidden in the secret compartment of his study.

The earliest was dated three years ago. The most recent, just last week. On every single document, the husband's name was Ethan Reed. The wife was not me.

I stared at those stamped papers for a long time. Then I laughed.

I thought it was some kind of joke.

After all, Ethan and I had registered our marriage years ago. He was already my husband. How could he possibly be marrying and divorcing another woman over and over again?

Then that evening, Ethan came home. He ruffled my hair the way he always did and asked, "Claire, did you pack my bag for the Maldives trip this weekend?"

At that exact moment, Ethan's favorite student, Lily Carter, posted an update on social media.

"Honeymoon number 39, countdown begins."

I stared at that post in disbelief. And in that moment, I finally understood why a university professor always needed to take business trips to the Maldives.

So this time, they were getting remarried again.

...

The next day, I went to the marriage records office at City Hall. The clerk took my documents, searched the system for a few minutes, and when she looked up, her expression had shifted into something careful.

"It's real, ma'am. Ethan Reed and Lily Carter completed their divorce registration last Tuesday." She paused, lowering her voice. "Thirty-eight divorces? That's... extreme."

Thirty-eight.

Starting three years ago, they'd been getting married and divorced roughly once a month.

I thanked her and turned to leave. The so-called marriage certificate in my bag stayed where it was.

There was no need for someone else to tell me it didn't exist in the system.

That piece of paper sat in my bag, stiff against my hand.

Nine years ago, we'd walked into City Hall together, taken a photo, and walked out shortly after. Ethan said he was busy with work, that he knew people, that they could expedite the process.

All these years, he'd been warm and attentive, the picture of a flawless husband. I never once doubted him.

Turns out from the very beginning, this marriage was a lie.

I'd barely stepped out of City Hall when Ethan sent me a voice message.

"Claire, Lily's coming over for dinner tonight. Pick up extra groceries—she says she's craving your smoked ribs."

I gripped my phone and smiled.

She's craving them.

She'd been craving them for three years, eating them for three years.

I never imagined she'd also been taking my husband for three years.

Besides his university position, Ethan was also an art restorer specializing in lacquerwork conservation.

Lily had come to study under him three years ago. She was from the same small town as Ethan. The first time she came to our home, she wore overalls and a messy bun, and the moment she walked through the door, she beamed at me.

"Mrs. Reed, you're so pretty. Ethan always used to say back home that he'd married an angel. I thought he was exaggerating."

She made me laugh. I pulled her down to sit and chat. Ethan stood nearby watching the two of us, the smile on his face deeper than usual.

Later, I started visiting the studio often. Lily was lively—she never stopped talking while she worked. She was nothing like the reserved students from Ethan's department, who respectfully called him Professor Reed. Lily just called him Ethan, sometimes teasing him right to his face.

Every time I watched them joke around, I tried to join in. I even went out of my way to research restoration techniques and materials. But every time the subject came up at dinner, Lily would cut me off with a laugh.

"Mrs. Reed, you're probably reading beginner-level stuff, right? What we're talking about is pretty technical. You don't have to force yourself."

And every time, Ethan would nod. "Claire, just do what you enjoy. The studio stuff is tedious. Don't make yourself suffer through it."

After a while, I stopped asking about their work altogether.

Lily came over for dinner every few days. She and Ethan would talk about exhibitions, materials—conversations I couldn't contribute a single word to. Sometimes they'd crack jokes in their hometown slang, and I understood even less.

That feeling of being shut out. It never sat right with me.

Before, I didn't understand where the unease came from.

Now I knew.

I moved my fingers across the screen and typed back a reply.

"No. If she wants to eat, she can cook it herself."

Ethan, this ends here.

We end here.