After five years of marriage, my wife’s childhood friend posted a property deed on his Facebook Feeds. He captioned it: “Thanks to my boss lady for transferring the house to me.” I stared in shock at the deed with my home address on it, and I commented with a simple “?” My wife, Seraphina “Sera” Jade, immediately called to scold me: “He’s a single dad; he’s so pitiful. I only transferred the house to help his daughter with school later; it doesn’t affect our living situation.” “How can you be so heartless, showing no sympathy at all?” On the other end, I could hear the sad complaints from her childhood friend, Jasper “Jazz” Caldwell. Half an hour later, he posted again, tagging me. This time, he flaunted a brand-new Luxury Mercedes-Benz. “Paid in full. As the saying goes, where a woman spends her money, that’s where her heart is.” I knew this was a gift from Sera to placate him. But this time, I decided I was going to divorce her. …… When Sera came home, I swallowed a capsule of medication with a slice of birthday cake. This was the medication I had to take after my gastric tumor removal. It was my birthday, and I had prepared a cake, waiting for Sera to return home, wanting to tell her that I had undergone surgery while she was away on business. I waited until 7 PM; she didn’t answer my calls or reply to my messages. The moment I commented on Jazz’s post about the property deed, Sera called me back, launching into a tirade. I tried to explain, but she hung up and blocked me. I was so furious that my stitched-up wound felt like it was tearing open again. Sera glanced at the medication and the cake on the dining table, frowning: “Whose birthday is it? Yours?” I silently put the medication away and tossed the cake in the trash, calmly saying, “Not mine, it’s for a friend.” She sighed with relief: “I remember your birthday is on September 28th; today is only the 8th.” Five years of marriage, and Sera had always mixed up my birthday. Ironically, she seemed to remember someone else’s birthday just fine. Sera sat next to me and handed me a small toy car: “Jazz asked me to give you this; he was scared by your sarcasm today, and you need to apologize to him.” The toy car had a Mercedes-Benz logo on it. It was probably a promotional item from the car purchase, with a noticeable grease stain on it. I replied flatly: “I don’t want it.” Sera frowned, displeased: “What are you being so proud about? He was scared and came to make amends, and you can’t even apologize to him?” Seeing that I wasn’t budging, Sera tried to pull me up to call Jazz. She yanked me up with such force that my injured leg bumped against the cold coffee table. That was the same leg Sera had burned a week ago. She had been walking out of the kitchen with a pot of scalding porridge, distractedly replying to Jazz’s messages, and had accidentally spilled it all over my right foot, burning the skin badly. Seeing blood seeping from my right foot again, Sera panicked: “I’ll take you to the hospital.” I didn’t refuse: “Okay.” As soon as I got into the car, the Bluetooth speaker came to life with Jazz’s soft, playful voice. “Welcome back, my boss lady! Work hard to earn more money for me to spend!” Sera’s expression shifted slightly: “Jazz left that in my car last time; I threw it out.” “No need.” I replied indifferently. The car quickly fell into silence. Sera looked at me, surprised: “Aren’t you angry?” I pursed my lips. I used to care about Jazz a lot. Now, I didn’t even care about Sera; how could I care about her little puppy? “Just drive; it’s getting late.” We only needed to make a U-turn and drive a mile straight to the hospital, but Sera’s phone rang. When she answered, a smile appeared on her face. I recognized Jazz’s voice as he sweet-talked her into taking him for a ride in the new Mercedes. “There’s a little urgency with Jazz; I’ll drop you off here, just cross the street, it’s only fifty meters.” Sera didn’t even want to turn around; she couldn’t wait to see Jazz. I glared at her coldly: “I can’t walk.” Sera’s expression turned cold: “Can’t you be less dramatic? You’re hurt, not disabled!” She opened the passenger door and forcefully dragged me out of the car, telling me to call her when I had my medicine sorted. The car sped away, splashing dirty water all over my injured foot. The sky started to drizzle lightly, leaving me soaked and looking a mess. Fifty meters felt like a marathon; after just a few steps, I was drenched in cold sweat. The wetness aggravated the pain from my freshly stitched abdomen, and my leg buckled as I collapsed onto the crosswalk. Numerous cars sped by, and if it weren’t for the kind security guard at the hospital helping me up, I might have been hit by one. Finally back from the hospital, I lay down, and Sera stormed in: “Didn’t I say to call me when you had your medicine sorted? I waited for you at the hospital entrance for a whole hour, and your phone was off the entire time!” I stared at her blankly.
I had been on an IV for two hours in the hospital, and when I came out, I didn’t see Sera’s car. I was feeling miserable and had no choice but to take a taxi home. My phone had only just died two minutes ago. In short, she hadn’t come to pick me up at all. When did Sera, who used to care for me meticulously, start to become distant and cold? “You blocked me; I couldn’t call you.” Sera paused, her anger slightly fading: “I knew you’d be hungry, so I brought you some late-night snacks—skinny rice porridge.” I looked at the bowl of porridge. It was just sprinkled with some scallions, hardly any rice or meat, more like leftovers from someone else’s meal. Half an hour ago, I had seen Jazz’s post. The picture showed Sera cooking porridge in the kitchen: “Who says there are no good women in the world? Not only did she take me for a midnight ride in her Mercedes, but when I was hungry, she also cooked me porridge. It smells amazing!” I stirred it self-deprecatingly, feeling a wave of nausea: “Throw it away; I don’t want it.” Sera’s expression darkened instantly as she glared at me coldly: “What’s wrong with you? I brought this especially for you, and you just want to throw it away?” “Am I wrong for being upset that I just transferred the house to Jazz today? It doesn’t mean you can’t live there. His child has a place to go to school now, and all I got was a thank you post on Facebook. You went and left your sarcastic comments; did I hold that against you?” My abdominal stitches were barely healed, and now my leg was re-injured; I felt utterly exhausted: “You misunderstood me; I was just surprised that his property deed had our address on it…” Sera interrupted impatiently: “Misunderstood? Jazz is right about you! You always fly off the handle over nothing, with no grace or tolerance. If I so much as talk to another man, you become paranoid! I think the issue lies with you!” If it were earlier, I might have argued back, trying to get her to understand the real me. Now I just stared at her coldly. Once she finished her hysterical rant, I slowly said: “Are you done? Could you please turn off the lights?” She shot me a dark look and slammed the door on her way out, leaving the lights on. Seconds later, the sound of another door slamming echoed from the living room. In the past, when she would sleep at Jazz’s place after a fight, I’d lie awake all night. Tonight, however, I fell asleep comfortably on my own. The next day, I contacted a friend for a lawyer and consulted about divorce proceedings. Since that door-slam, Sera had disappeared for three days. The next time I saw her was in a travel photo shared by her friend Felicity “Flick” Hart. In the picture, she and a few friends posed together, with Jazz standing beside Sera, both in matching outfits, Jazz’s youthful face beaming with joy. I quietly liked the photo. Sera, who had been MIA, called me back in an instant: “I’ll pick you up later to go to the beach and introduce you to my friends.” After a pause, she added: “Actually, I didn’t have to invite you; this is a reward for how well you’ve been behaving lately.” “Sure.” The divorce was already in motion; I didn’t want to stir things up with her. Sera came to pick me up as promised, but strangely, Jazz didn’t show up to cause a scene today. Once we reached the beach, Flick came over to greet me: “Last time was my gathering, sorry for not giving you a heads-up. I’ll punish myself with three drinks later.” Flick’s acknowledgment elevated my status in front of everyone. I offered a perfunctory smile: “Been busy with company matters recently.” “I heard you managed to persuade some elite talents to open a branch in Willow Springs; congratulations!” Flick continued to shower me with compliments. I smiled slightly: “That’s the plan, but it’s still uncertain.” As I spoke, Sera marched over, glaring at me: “You’re going to Willow Springs? Why didn’t you tell me? Did I permit you to go?” I turned my head, calmly gazing at her furious face. The atmosphere around us froze again. Sera was still loudly questioning me, while Flick could only awkwardly attempt to lighten the mood, suggesting we head to the barbecue. The server quickly set up the grill, and Sera sat beside me, a rare look of panic flashing across her pretty face: “I’ve already told Jazz that once his kid graduates from elementary school, we’ll transfer the house back.” “Don’t be upset; it’s my house, and I don’t have to explain it to you.” “Oh.” I nodded calmly. Before long, a familiar handsome figure walked toward us, and my smile froze. A girl I had never met but who was close to Flick and Sera jumped up, excitedly waving at Jazz: “Brother-in-law, brother-in-law, Sera’s here, hurry over!” In an instant, everyone around us gasped.
Flick kicked the girl, angrily scolding her for her lack of awareness. “I’m going to the restroom.” I slowly stood up, not wanting to explode in front of everyone, just wanting to keep some semblance of dignity between us. Sera glanced at me and then at Jazz, but she ultimately didn’t follow me. When I returned, everyone had eaten and sat down on the beach. Jazz and Sera were sitting close together, their postures intimate. I quietly found a spot to sit off to the side. Flick again tried to lighten the mood: “Alright, let’s play a game of Truth or Dare!” In the first round, Sera won, and Jazz lost. Jazz chose truth, and Sera let him off easy, asking him what he had been happy about lately. Jazz blinked and gazed at Sera affectionately: “I met a wonderful woman; in just one day, I have a house and a car. By the way, she even took me for a midnight ride in her new Mercedes-Benz to unwind.” After saying that, Jazz smirked at me triumphantly. Most people present knew exactly how Jazz had gotten that house and car, but everyone typically turned a blind eye, knowing yet saying nothing. However, Jazz bringing these matters to light changed everything. The atmosphere thickened again; even Flick felt a bit awkward. Noticing that I wasn’t getting angry, Flick forced herself to keep the ball rolling: “Alright, it’s time for the second round, and look, it’s our handsome Ethan’s turn.” When it was my turn, Jazz was the one to impose a penalty on me. “Truth,” I said flatly. Jazz approached me with a drink in hand: “Ethan, let’s play big, how about a dare?” I frowned, alarm bells ringing: “I choose truth.” “Let’s do a dare; I won’t make it hard on you. I heard Sera say you’re an excellent swimmer. Just swim a lap for us!” Jazz smirked as he looked at my abdomen. I firmly refused: “I’m not feeling well; I can’t swim.” Jazz looked at Sera with a pitiful gaze, and Sera, slightly annoyed, said: “You’re a level-two athlete; swimming is your specialty; how could you not swim? A few days ago, he apologized to you; now he’s trying to make amends. You showing him a swim will not cost you anything!” Sera insisted, ignoring my struggles, pushing me towards the beach along with Jazz. Jazz skillfully removed my jacket while taking a swig from a bottle of alcohol: “Ethan, I toast to you; now it’s your turn to shine.” With a drink in hand, I felt like I was being put on a spit to roast. I grew impatient: “I said I didn’t want to swim; forcing me while you drink isn’t fair. Why can’t I choose truth?” Jazz pouted, glancing at Sera. Sera’s expression darkened instantly. She slammed the bottle of alcohol into the sand: “What’s your problem? Swimming is your forte; he’s not making it hard on you; he’s even punishing himself with a drink! Why are you being so ungrateful?” Looking at Sera, the “damsel saving the hero,” and at Jazz, whose eyes were reddening, I replied coldly: “Did I force him to drink? I told him I didn’t want to swim, and he’s still pushing me; isn’t that the definition of being difficult?” I shot back three times, causing Jazz to burst into tears. Sera’s expression turned dark as she rolled up her pants. “Not swimming, huh? Fine, I’ll swim with you!” With everyone staring in shock, Sera grabbed my ear and forcefully pushed me into the water. The cold seeped into my wound, making my scalp tingle with chill; in the next moment, seawater rushed into my nose, and I choked violently. Sera still didn’t let go; she and Jazz held me down. I felt like I was suffocating, my eyes turning red from discomfort as tears and snot streamed down my face. When it felt like my lungs were about to explode, I desperately tried to push Sera away; finally, she let go. Unfortunately, a big wave crashed in just then, and as I tried to grab Sera’s pant leg, she kicked me away. I was swept into the sea, icy water engulfing me completely. After what felt like an eternity, I finally swam with all my strength to the shore, gasping for fresh air. Meanwhile, Sera was gently rubbing Jazz’s head, soothing him with patience and warmth: “Don’t be sad; I punished him.” “He deserves it; I’ll teach him a lesson later.” Then, she walked up to me, looking down from above: “Apologize to Jazz! You owe him a drink! Otherwise, we…” In the midst of everyone’s shocked gazes and Sera’s demanding eyes, I interrupted, my eyes reddening: “Sera, wait for my lawyer to contact you; we’re getting a divorce.” With that, Sera stared at me in disbelief, her dark eyes filled with shock. I felt weak as I took a few steps forward. When I reached the main road, everything went black, and I collapsed. Before losing consciousness, I heard someone nearby shouting: “Someone’s passed out!” “Call an ambulance! Oh my God, he’s bleeding a lot from his abdomen!”
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