My wife, Elara, was washing dishes when I brought up divorce. She paused, then simply nodded. “Okay.” It was the fifth time I’d asked her. The previous four, she’d been shocked, furious, heartbroken, even pleaded with me, driving me utterly crazy. This time, though, she agreed. She agreed with such an air of indifference, so casually, as if it were a trivial matter. I watched her slender back by the sink. Amidst my excitement, a strange feeling stirred within me… I was still on the sofa, mulling over my strange, inexplicable feelings when Cynthia’s call came through. “How did it go this time? Did she agree?” Her soft voice held a hint of tension. I snapped back to reality, shook my head, and my voice was filled with relief. “Yeah, she agreed!” There was silence for a few seconds on her end, then she asked, her voice trembling: “Really? Declan, don’t mess with me!” My heart tightened. I spoke softly, “Cynthia, it’s true. She really agreed this time. We can finally be together, openly and without hiding!” A low sob came through the phone. “That’s wonderful… I can finally have you!” Feeling her excitement and overwhelming joy, my own eyes welled up a little. It was my fifth time asking Elara for a divorce. The previous four, without exception, had been rejected. Over two years, Elara went from shock and anger to pain and pleading. As for me, I went from initial guilt and a pang of conscience to numbness and outright annoyance. Every failed negotiation left me too ashamed to face Cynthia. She was so hopeful, so yearning, so patient. Despite the unconcealed sadness on her face, she would always turn around and comfort me: “We’re both women, I understand her. Besides, you two have a child. We can just work harder on a few more projects, give her more money. Sigh, if it weren’t for true love, why would we ever go down this path…” Today was my first time home in two months. I’d called ahead. When I walked in, Elara had already cooked a feast and was sitting quietly by the table lamp on the sofa, reading a book. Seeing me, she folded the corner of the page, set the book down, and calmly told me to wash my hands for dinner. She mentioned Lily was at a friend’s house downstairs for a birthday party. Before coming, Cynthia and I had agreed that if Elara still stubbornly refused to agree to the divorce, we’d raise the compensation amount in the previous divorce agreement by another 20%. I had even prepared myself for an all-night negotiation. But I never expected— The moment I opened my mouth with the first sentence, Elara so casually dismissed it. On the other end of the phone, Cynthia also sounded a bit confused. After a while, she mused, “Declan, do you think she’s playing some trick?” It wasn’t surprising that Cynthia asked this. As the Head of Negotiations for my company, she always thought one step further when faced with difficult deals. I shook my head. “I doubt it. Elara’s just a full-time homemaker; she doesn’t understand all those corporate games and deceptions.” Cynthia’s voice softened. “Looks can be deceiving, Declan. Just because she doesn’t understand it doesn’t mean she wouldn’t find someone to help. Anyway, for the company, for our future, I suggest you still be cautious.” I was silent for a moment. “Don’t worry.”
Elara walked out of the bedroom, holding a document. I looked up at her. Her eyes were unreadable, her face serene. There was none of the usual broken sadness or hysterical displays. “I’ve signed this already. Let me know when you’ve booked a time with the Registrar’s Office.” She handed me the document and turned to pour some tea. The boiling kettle gurgled, a stream of water poured down, and the rich, earthy scent of tea immediately filled the room. She picked up the cup, and I instinctively reached out to take it. But she brought it to her own lips, taking a slow, relaxed sip. Seeing my outstretched hand, she looked at me strangely: “Isn’t the divorce agreement in your hand?” I frowned slightly, withdrew my hand, and began to read the “Divorce Agreement” carefully. Ten minutes later, I looked up, asking in confusion: “This isn’t the one I gave you last time? Not a single word changed?” Elara was leaning back on the sofa, casually sipping her tea and picking up the book she hadn’t finished. She looked up from it, her expression blank for a moment before realizing what I was talking about. “Oh, no, I didn’t change it. I think it’s fine.” I stared at her for a moment, then, after thinking, I spoke. “Elara, if you still can’t get past it, I can increase the amount.” She tilted her head, a faint smile on her face. “Increase it? Did Cynthia agree?” A wave of displeasure and annoyance immediately surged through me. For the past two years, whenever the topic of divorce came up, Elara would always bring Cynthia into it. Perhaps in her eyes, I was a cheating husband who gave in to temptation, and Cynthia was a shameless homewrecker who intervened in someone else’s family. But she simply didn’t understand. The depth of the painful entanglement and difficult struggles Cynthia and I went through to finally take this step.
In fact, Cynthia and I initially couldn’t stand each other. She was the Head of Negotiations my partner had hired with a high salary—always in killer heels, bold red lipstick, and figure-hugging skirts. She was decisive and efficient at work, assertive at the negotiation table, and dared to publicly contradict me in internal meetings. Elara had a gentle, serene soul. Bare-faced most days, dressed simply, her life revolved around caring for Lily and me, sipping tea, reading, and tending to her plants. I had never encountered a woman like Cynthia in my life. One time, when I was complaining about Cynthia again, Elara was carefully pruning an orchid. She tilted her head amidst the green leaves, smiling at me. “You’ve been mentioning her quite a lot lately!” My opinion of Cynthia changed when I bumped into her in the stairwell, sitting on the steps, her face buried in her hands, crying. She looked at me, her eyes red, quickly wiped away her tears, stood up, and muttered an apology before heading off with her head held high, her heels clicking loudly. Later, I learned from my partner that she had divorced due to domestic abuse, was raising a seven-year-old daughter alone, and her ex-husband still harassed her occasionally. Thinking of this vulnerable side beneath her tough, professional exterior, my attitude toward her shifted. Cynthia reciprocated in kind. We worked together, growing increasingly in sync. At the negotiation table, she understood my unspoken intentions, and I understood her bluffs. At social gatherings, she would shield me from drinks when I was drunk or quietly hand me a warm cup of tea. One time, I saw her ex-husband harassing her again, even trying to get violent. I rushed over and threw a punch, making her gasp in surprise. I remember coming home that night with a bandage on my head, terrifying Elara. She trembled as she hugged me, repeatedly asking, “Does your head hurt? Your head can’t get hurt! Are you really okay?” Cynthia and I first slept together three years after we met. It was during a company retreat in a historic town. Elara had always yearned to visit historic towns in the South. For one of her birthdays, she’d wished that I would take her and Lily to explore one properly. So, when the HR department asked me where to hold the annual retreat, I blurted out, “The historic town.” My intention was to surprise Elara, but during that time, Cynthia and I had developed an undeniable tension, something unspoken. On a strange impulse, I didn’t tell Elara. The night in the historic town was beautiful, the wine easily intoxicating, the scenery enchanting. Cynthia, wearing a nightgown, knocked on my door, and we spent a wild, forbidden night together. We both knew we had made a terrible mistake. After we returned, I thought it over several times and cut off my direct work contact with Cynthia. She accepted my decision without a single word of complaint, though her gaze was silent and sorrowful. Elara accidentally saw pictures of the historic town on my phone and asked, surprised, “When did you go to the historic town? Why didn’t you take me?” I felt incredibly guilty and vaguely explained, “A conference, just for one day, I didn’t tell you.” Later, Cynthia submitted her resignation. I accepted it. We both knew it was for the best. After she left, we didn’t contact each other once. Until three months later, we met during a project negotiation—she had joined the opposing company. At the bar, the opposing CEO and his subordinates were aggressively pushing drinks on me. When I was once again forced to drink, Cynthia, who had been silent, picked up a bottle and smashed it over the CEO’s head. She lost her job, lost all her money, and was detained for fifteen days. The day she was released from detention, I went to pick her up. We went straight to a hotel. We made love day and night. I had made up my mind. Life is only once. To hell with family responsibilities, to hell with bottom lines and morals. Let them call me a scoundrel, a betrayer. I would indulge, I would be wild. I couldn’t let down the woman who had sacrificed so much for me. … My thoughts snapped back to the present. As my seven-year marriage reached its final step today, I didn’t want to hear Cynthia’s name from Elara’s lips again. “I’ll let you know once the time is booked. Don’t miss it.” I said coldly, then left the house. As I entered the elevator, I met my daughter, Lily. She was excitedly carrying a slice of cake, her face beaming with joy, which instantly vanished the moment she saw me. “Lily, Dad—” I didn’t finish my sentence. She walked past me expressionlessly. I frowned. Lily used to hug my neck and sweetly call me “Daddy” whenever she saw me. After two months apart, she was treating me like a stranger. I had told Elara earlier not to tell Lily about the divorce yet. Clearly, she hadn’t listened. When I reached downstairs, I looked up at the window. Lily was happily feeding Elara a slice of cake with a fork, and Elara, with a gentle smile, was leaning down to take it. My phone vibrated. I tore my gaze away. Cynthia had sent me a message: [Babe, hurry home, your wife is going to give you a big reward tonight!] It was the first time she had called me “babe.” I could imagine how thrilled and excited she must be right now. I let out a long breath and walked away, my strides firm.
The “Divorce Agreement” stipulated that: Elara would have custody of Lily and keep the house we currently lived in. Given that the company was about to go public, my company equity would remain untouched, but I would give her $8 million as compensation, to be paid in one year. Cynthia was heartbroken for me when she saw the compensation amount. “You built this from nothing over these past few years, piece by piece, and you just give it away. How many projects will it take to earn that back?” I comforted her, “After all, I wronged her. We should be thankful. If she insisted on splitting our marital assets equally, it would be far more than this.” Cynthia leaned her head on my shoulder. “I just worry about your health.” She was very efficient and quickly helped me book the divorce registration. I sent the time to Elara, and she replied with a simple, “Okay.” During the waiting period, Cynthia was visibly happy. Yes, from the first time I brought up divorce two years ago, we had encouraged each other and walked this path together, bearing a lot, experiencing a lot. She still couldn’t quite believe it. “Why did she suddenly agree? “Is she really not playing any tricks? “Happiness came too suddenly!” Not just her, but a part of me also felt a little confused. One night, exhausted, Cynthia was sleeping soundly on my chest. I stared at the moon outside the window, smoking, my thoughts a tangled mess. Suddenly, I remembered a small incident. A little over a month ago, I was in a meeting when Elara called, her voice tinged with anger: “Why did you give Lily’s piano competition spot to Cynthia’s daughter?” I was annoyed at the time and scolded her: “Lily participates every year. Chloe has never had an opportunity like this before. What’s the problem with letting her have it just once? Besides, that institution is funded by me anyway. Lily will have plenty of chances in the future!” Elara was silent for a long time, then said softly: “Do you know how hard Lily worked for this competition? She said she wanted to prove with her talent that her father didn’t play favorites, and she wanted to win a championship to make you proud…” I hated being guilt-tripped by her like that and roughly said, “I’ll buy her a gift to make up for it later. Chloe is a poor child—” She hung up before I finished speaking. On the day of the competition, I drove Cynthia and Chloe to the venue. We got stuck in traffic halfway there, and I saw Elara. She was riding a scooter, with Lily on the back. Elara didn’t drive. The road from home to the institution wasn’t far but was extremely congested, so she often rode a scooter to take Lily to piano lessons. It was a very windy day. Both mother and daughter looked disheveled, their hair a mess. I turned to look at Chloe. She was wearing a beautiful, delicate princess dress, sipping milk and nestled in Cynthia’s arms. The scooter was grazed by a car that cut in, and Elara and Lily fell to the ground. I instinctively started to get out, but Cynthia pressed my hand, slowly shaking her head: “She already dislikes me and Chloe. This situation will only make her angrier. Don’t worry, they’re not hurt, they’re already getting up.” I looked over. Mother and daughter were helping each other stand. Chloe suddenly rolled down the passenger window and yelled, “Lily!” Then, proudly and loudly, she added, “We’re going to the competition in Declan’s car! Are you going to the competition too?” In a moment of panic, I met Elara’s gaze. I thought she would make a scene. But she only gave me a fleeting glance, then turned to comfort Lily and quickly rode off with her. … Ever since I decided to take this path, bearing the public scorn, I had deliberately avoided thinking about anything that might weaken my resolve. I couldn’t be unfair to one person only to be unfair to another. I told myself that compensating her more was good enough. A full-time homemaker, never having worked a day, would still get so much money for free. She wasn’t getting a raw deal. Compared to many, she was already lucky. I extinguished my cigarette butt. And stopped the sudden rush of memories in my mind.
On the day of the divorce registration, Cynthia insisted on accompanying me. She said she wanted to sincerely apologize to Elara. I hesitated. “What if she does something outrageous to you there…” She gave a bitter smile. “That’s fine. Consider it me repaying her.” We arrived at the Registrar’s Office ten minutes early. Cynthia held my hand, and we encouraged each other. When Elara appeared, I didn’t recognize her at first. She had abandoned her usual plain, bare-faced attire, wearing a navy belted trench coat and high heels. Her long hair cascaded down her back like satin, reaching her waist. With light makeup, her skin, already fairer and smoother than most, made her teeth seem even whiter and her eyes brighter, her features exquisite. She walked in, hands in her pockets, looking utterly serene. She seemed to carry a strange, captivating aura. Wherever she stood, a peaceful, tranquil atmosphere seemed to settle. It was like that at home, and it was like that outside. The hall suddenly grew quiet, all eyes drawn to her. I felt a pang of disorientation, a remote, blurry sense of familiarity washing over me.
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