On the night of my 50th birthday, after years of our marriage being little more than a formality, my husband, Michael, actually came to my bed. I thought it was his birthday gift to me, but as soon as he was done, he said: “Let’s get a divorce. Just like last time, you can have all the assets.” Tears streaming down my face, I nodded in agreement. The woman he’d been seeing five years ago was back, and she had a child with her. The day we finalized the divorce, I handed him a paternity test report. This wasn’t the first time Michael had asked for a divorce. The last time was five years ago. He claimed he’d racked up gambling debts and wanted a “fake” divorce to protect our family assets. But there’s no such thing as a “fake” divorce in this world; a divorce certificate is always real. Back then, I was foolish enough to believe him, mostly because we divorced but didn’t separate. I still stayed home, managing the household and caring for our large family. Only, he rarely came home, and his phone was often unreachable. I worried, but then I thought, *this is just how it is when you’re hiding from debt*, and I settled my mind. About half a year later, he told me the gambling debts were sorted, and we remarried. I always thought he’d handled the whole thing quite cleverly. Until one evening, Michael’s friend, David, called, saying Michael was too drunk and I needed to pick him up. I stood outside the private room and overheard their conversation: “Dude, I told you long ago, those massage parlor girls are unreliable. It’s normal for them to run off.” “Exactly, those kinds of women are just for fun, not worth getting upset over. Move on.” “I can’t! I poured ten grand into her ‘services’ to boost her numbers! She just left, treating me like a fool!” “Come on, Michael, stop drinking. Sarah’s so good to you – sweet, understanding, and she keeps your home perfect. Go back to her.” The sound of a glass shattering inside jolted me awake from my dream of a happy marriage. My lip was bleeding where I’d bitten it, and tears rolled down my cheeks uncontrollably. So, there had been *her* between us. Who was she? When did it start? So many times, I wanted to ask, but the words caught in my throat. I was terrified that if I asked, this family would truly fall apart. That incident became a knot in my heart, a constant ache in my chest. Now, who was he divorcing me for this time? My grandson’s cries pulled me back to reality. I was about to go comfort him when Michael grabbed my arm. “Why aren’t you asking *why*? Why are you agreeing so easily?” It seemed he had a whole list of excuses ready, but I couldn’t be fooled a second time. I pretended to be concerned and asked: “How much do you owe this time?” He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he hugged me tightly: “Those bastards ganged up on me. This time, I might have to hide out for a while. The family’s all on you.” Seeing my tears, he seemed convinced he’d fooled me. He let out a sigh of relief and fell peacefully asleep. Soon, his snores filled the room. I quietly picked up his phone. There were no strangers on SnapChat. But on TikTok, all his recent likes were for the same woman. I tapped on her profile. Her videos were almost all daily clips of a little boy. Just as I was wondering about it, the woman’s profile picture flashed.
“Baby’s birthday tomorrow. Can you come be with him?” My heart pounded. I didn’t need to think twice; the woman from five years ago was back. The next morning, Michael whistled as he combed his hair, shaving his beard with unusual care. I quietly followed him out the door. He, who was usually so stingy, actually walked into a high-end department store. After buying two sets of kids’ clothes, he entered a fancy bakery, pointing to a cake decorated with an Ultraman figure and asking the price. The clerk enthusiastically asked: “Is it for your grandson’s birthday, sir? How many candles do you need?” Michael’s face flushed, embarrassed, and he nodded, holding up four fingers. Watching his face, beaming with happiness, my heart ached as if pierced by needles. He’d lecture Chloe if she bought clothes for Leo that cost more than twenty dollars, but he ordered a hundred-dollar cake without batting an eye. Afraid I’d be suspicious if he didn’t come home for dinner, he arranged to have lunch with Jessica and her son. The moment he saw the boy, his face lit up, and he picked him up, spinning him around. They went into the children’s play area at the mall. I stood by the entrance, looking at the price list, a bitter feeling rising in my chest. Two adults and one child: $39.99. My hands trembling, I sent him a text: “Let’s go to the courthouse to schedule our divorce tomorrow.” His reply came quickly: “Okay.” I stared at that single word, stunned and numb for a long time. All these years of our marriage, ultimately, couldn’t compete with their mere six months together. The next day, Michael took my hand as we walked out the door. When the city hall clerk asked the reason for the divorce, Michael blurted out: “Irreconcilable differences.” The clerk smiled, shaking her head: “Sir, you’re just discovering irreconcilable differences after 30 years of marriage? Marriage isn’t easy; maybe you should think it over before deciding.” But I couldn’t wait. The thought of that woman’s face made it hard for me to breathe. “I have cancer. I don’t want to burden him. Just get it done for us.” At that, the room fell silent. The clerk looked at Michael, shook her head, and sighed deeply. The moment I walked out of city hall, I suddenly felt a wave of relief, as if a huge boulder had been lifted from my chest. Michael grabbed my hand, tentatively saying: “Then I’ll move to David’s place for now, to hide out. With a grandson now, we can’t let those people find our home.” “Okay. Will you come back in 30 days?” “Of course, I will. Without the divorce certificate, those guys won’t believe me.” “Alright, I’ll wait for you right here then. You must come.” That night, Michael packed some personal belongings and hurried out of the house. Before he left, he even reminded me not to forget to change his paralyzed mother’s adult diapers. The very next day after he left, a group of men suddenly showed up at our recycling yard, carrying bats. They shouted loudly, “Michael! Come out!”
I was inside, doing the accounts, when the shouting outside startled me. As soon as I reached the door, the men surrounded me, their faces menacing, as if ready to strike at any moment. Seeing me, the bald leader barked: “Get Michael out here!” “He’s not here.” “Not here? Then *you* pay the money he owes!” With that, two men grabbed my arms, while the others started rummaging through everything. A drawer full of cash and the money from my fanny pack were taken to their boss. The man looked at it—all small bills, only a few hundred dollars in total. Enraged, he grabbed a handful of money and savagely flung it at my face. “Tell Michael, if he doesn’t pay up, I’ll kill him!” As soon as he spoke, a black bag was thrown over my head, and I was shoved to the ground. “What are you doing!” I shrieked, but no one answered. A flurry of punches and kicks came without warning, pain assaulting me from every part of my body. A heavy kick landed on my stomach, and I gasped, unable to make another sound, one thought repeating in my mind: *Maybe I was wrong about Michael. This time, he really is in debt.* My consciousness slowly blurred, and I lay motionless on the ground. They took the black bag off my head, checked my breathing, confirming I wasn’t dead. “Boss, I think she’s passed out.” “Alright, Old Michael just said to scare her a bit, not kill her.” The footsteps gradually receded into the distance. But my heart ached more than my body. Michael would go to such lengths, even having me beaten, just to make me believe he was truly in debt. Five days in the hospital, my phone was eerily silent. Only Daniel called once, about Leo. Hearing I was in the hospital, he just said he’d visit when he had time, but he never showed up. After being discharged, I immediately bought a plane ticket.
The plane landed in an unfamiliar southern city. Humid air washed over me. I went to my best friend Brenda’s house. She had just retired, her husband had passed away, and she had no children. It was the freest time of her life. It had been years, but Brenda was as warm as ever, holding my hand and asking endless questions. When she heard I was divorced, she cheered: “You should’ve left him ages ago! That jerk never deserved you.” Her words surprised me. For 30 years, I’d always felt like I had married above my station. Michael and I both came from humble backgrounds, introduced and married. Everyone in our village said I’d hit the jackpot; Michael’s family was one of the wealthiest there, and he was tall and good-looking. In front of him, I always felt a bit insecure, so I just tried my best to take care of him. Not long after we married, we followed his father thousands of miles away to the city to start a business. After Daniel was born, the recycling yard business thrived, and more and more rumors of Michael’s shenanigans reached my ears. But they were always just rumors. Michael had always been gentle and attentive to me, so I never truly doubted him. Brenda poured me a glass of red wine and asked about my plans. “Take me to a spa. I want to know what a foot massage feels like.” “No problem.” In the private room at the spa, the lights were dim, the music soft. Brenda saw my cautious demeanor and couldn’t help but tease: “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a spa before.” My face flushed, and I gave an embarrassed smile. Brenda scoffed in disbelief: “A guy like Michael, he’s probably had hundreds of massages outside, if not thousands. You, Sarah, you’re just too naive.” The masseur was a young guy in his twenties. Every time he called me “ma’am,” I got goosebumps. *Is this how Michael got caught, with all those “sirs” from the massage parlor girls?* Lost in thought, I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, my phone had a dozen missed calls and dozens of messages. Daniel and Chloe were frantic: “Mom, Leo’s still crying after his milk. What should we do?” “Mom, Grandma Martha’s adult diapers are gone. Where do you buy them?” “Mom, when are you coming home?” Before I could finish reading the messages, Daniel’s call came through again: “Mom, where are you? When are you coming back?” Leo’s crying could be heard in the background. My nose tingled. “I’m out enjoying myself for a few days. I’ll be back soon. You two handle it for now.” Daniel fell silent. The sound of Leo’s crying and dishes clattering grew clearer. Afraid I’d give in, I immediately hung up, but tears still flowed stubbornly. After three days of fun with Brenda, Daniel’s messages started to change. From anxious inquiries, they turned into subtle reproaches. The last message was a direct accusation: “How can you be so selfish, Mom? At your age, you’re still not home, not acting like a grandmother should.” Reading those words, my heart felt like it had been brutally stabbed. Since marrying Michael, I had never rested. Even with a fever, I would get up in the middle of the night to feed Leo and change his diapers. I raised Daniel, and then came Leo. Both Daniel and Chloe worked, so Leo had slept with me since he was born. Every two hours, I’d get up to warm the breast milk Chloe had stored in the fridge for him. After six months, half my hair was gone. I touched my thinning hair and asked Brenda: “Where can I get a hair treatment?” Brenda laughed at me: “Hair treatment? Seriously, Sarah? That’s so old school. Leave it to me.” Brenda took me to a hair salon. Soon, my hair was dark again, making me look 10 years younger instantly. When it was time to pay, I suddenly thought to check my bank balance. Seven figures! I stared at the number, counting it several times. I couldn’t believe Michael was so rich! Yet I’d been picking through discount vegetables at the supermarket, waiting until 8 PM for meat sales, taking the bus instead of a taxi, haggling with grocers over a few cents. All these years, Michael and I had been living in two completely different worlds. As Brenda and I were binging a show with face masks on, Michael showed up. “You’ve had your fun. Come home with me. Everything’s a mess.” Seeing Michael’s anger about to boil over, Brenda stepped between us, smiling at Michael. “Oh, it’s all my fault. I asked Sarah to stay with me for a few days, I forgot she had a whole family to take care of.” She politely invited Michael in and specifically brewed him tea. “Michael, have some tea first. I’ll help Sarah pack her bags.” Brenda winked at me, and I followed her into the bedroom. I thought she was going to encourage reconciliation, but instead, she leaned in and whispered: “You haven’t gotten the divorce certificate yet, don’t burn your bridges too soon. Figure out a way to make him leave with nothing, otherwise, won’t that woman and her kid just get everything?” “But he gave me all the assets, didn’t he?” “You’re naive! He definitely didn’t give you everything. He’s tricking you into this divorce so he can be with that woman. If he gave *you* all his money, how would he support his child?” Her words hit me like a revelation. I quickly packed my bags and went home with Michael. I didn’t have proof of his infidelity, but I was going to make sure he left with nothing. Back home, Michael was still out all the time. I hired a daytime housekeeper and stopped doing any chores myself. With my free time, I followed Michael and found Jessica’s house. After two days of staking out their apartment complex’s recycling room, I successfully retrieved the trash she’d thrown out. With only a week left until the final divorce, the DNA test results for her child came back. The result was a huge shock! 6 I arranged to meet Jessica at a coffee shop, and she readily agreed. She was wearing a dress, her figure curvy, looking around 30 years old, with a composed demeanor.
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