We had booked a hotel room. However, while we were in the middle of our intimacy, I suddenly experienced excruciating pain in my abdomen. It quickly became apparent that I had a ruptured ovary, which led to severe internal bleeding. The situation rapidly worsened and I was in intense pain and losing blood quickly. I was rushed to the hospital. While I was fighting for my life in the ER, my husband, who had always played a loving-husband, was outside the door live-streaming his sob story.

“She cheated because she was lonely. She is having bleeding out because they play it rough,” he said to his viewers. The media, unaware of the truth, seized the opportunity to broadcast his narrative widely. I was subjected to cyberbullying and, ultimately, died as a result. Meanwhile, my husband, capitalizing on the scandal, made a fortune from live-streamed product promotions and married his first love—the only woman he ever truly cared about.

“My soul drifted to their wedding venue, where a large banner at the entrance read: “Separated once, but through hard years we’ve fought. United now by hundreds of heartfelt wishes. Our wedding candle’s glow reveals the love we’ve sought.” The words sent a shiver through me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day my husband sent me that message inviting me to the hotel.

——

“Room 316, Four Seasons Hotel.” Staring at Elroy's text, my eyes widened in disbelief and a shiver ran through me. I had been reborn.

This message had led me straight into hell in my previous life. After three years of marriage, Elroy had been obsessively pushing for us to have a child and often took me to hotels. He was so drunk that he was doing it roughly, causing severe bleeding on me.

I remembered how, after being rushed to the ER, Elroy not only refused to pay for the surgery but also live-streamed on the hospital corridor, claiming he’d been cheated on. He garnered sympathy online and attracted a wave of attention. I was vilified and met a tragic end, while he and his first love profited from my misfortune.

Thinking about this, I was consumed with rage at the thought of this despicable couple. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I replied to Elroy’s message:

[I have plans this afternoon. I can’t make it.]

He was incredulous. A call came in almost immediately.

Elroy’s voice, thick with alcohol and anger, came through the phone.

“Have I been too lenient with you? Are you refusing me now? Get to the hotel right now, or you’ll be sorry.”

“No.” I said firmly.

“Then let’s get a divorce!” Elroy’s response was immediate and sharp. 

His words hit me with an unexpected sense of calm. I glanced around at the bright, clean salon, feeling a strange detachment from the situation. “Fine. I’m fed up with all your shit anyway,” I replied, my voice steady.

There was a stunned silence on the other end before Elroy sneered, “Fine! Don’t come crawling back to me when you regret this.”

I ended the call with a decisive tap on my phone screen. The nail technician, who had been quietly working on my nails, looked up with a mixture of surprise and concern. “He just wants to take you to a hotel room. Is it really worth divorcing him over?”

I met her gaze, my expression resolute. 

“It does,” I said flatly.

She looked at me with disbelief but soon returned to working on my nails. Of course, she didn’t understand—she hadn’t lived through what I had.

Over the three years of our marriage, every time I defied Elroy, he would threaten me with divorce. For the sake of my parents’ reputation, as they would be embarrassed by their daughter’s divorce, I had always swallowed my pride and begged for peace.

Over time, he knew that divorce was my biggest fear and used it to manipulate me.

That evening, I returned home with my newly curled hair. As soon as I walked through the door, I heard the sound of things smashing in the living room.

He looked up and sneered, “So, you defied me, went out and came home dressed like a prostitute! Did you just spend time with your sleazy client?” I said nothing, my anger too deep for words and headed straight upstairs to the bedroom. The clatter of broken objects behind me only fueled my resolve to ignore him. Elroy, seeing me disregard his outburst, stormed over and blocked the staircase with a menacing presence. “Kaitlin! I’m talking to you! Are you deaf?” I faced him with a steely gaze. “You wanted a divorce, didn’t you? What else do you want me to say?”

He was clearly taken aback by my seriousness. His eyes widened and his expression shifted to one of bewilderment. “You really want a divorce?”

“Yes,” I replied calmly. “I even made an appointment.”

I pulled out my phone and showed him the confirmation for a meeting with a divorce lawyer, scheduled for eight the next morning.

Elroy’s face drained of color as he read the message repeatedly, unable to process what he was seeing.

“Happy? Now, can you step aside so I can get to my room and get some beauty sleep?” I sighed and tapped my foot impatiently.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Elroy asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

“Does that appointment look like a joke to you?” I said, rolling my eyes. I sidestepped him and walked up to my bedroom on the second floor. 

Despite being married for three years, Elroy and I had always slept in separate rooms—he in the master bedroom and I in the spare room. Even on our wedding night, we had spent the night in a hotel. At first, he had convinced me with some strange reasoning about some positioning. He claimed that the master bedroom’s design clashed with my aura and that sleeping there would negatively impact on my health. Worse, he insisted that we couldn’t conceive a child anywhere in the house, as it would bring bad luck and endanger our family’s prosperity.

I suggested moving to a new house that would better fit our preferences, but Elroy argued that our current home was in a top school district, essential for our future children’s education. Therefore, moving was not an option.

Yawning, I brushed off everything that concerns me. I wasn’t interested in whether he wanted to move or not; right now, I just wanted to watch some videos and go to bed.

As soon as I opened my phone, I saw Elroy’s latest TikTok video. He was wearing an apron and painstakingly picking up shards of broken porcelain from the floor, his hands cut and bleeding. The background music was one of those emotional TikTok ballads that added a dramatic touch to the scene.

I tapped on the caption, which read: ‘My wife’s in a bad mood, so as a loving husband, I need to be understanding. I clean up the mess for her so the shattered pieces don’t hurt her. Real love requires sacrifice.’

The comments were already piling up with support for him.

“Bro, if it’s that bad, why not just find another wife? There are plenty fish in the sea.”

“Yeah, looking at your situation, if you find a second wife to marry, you won’t do worse than this.”

“Why torture yourself with a drama queen? What were you thinking?”

I laughed out of sheer frustration. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He deliberately broke things, cleaned them up and then made a video to portray himself as a devoted husband while painting me as a difficult wife. It was a pathetic attempt to gain sympathy and divert attention from his own manipulative behavior.

I exited the video and scrolled through Elroy’s TikTok profile, skimming through his posts. Unsurprisingly, every video portrayed him as a long-suffering husband. In every video, I was depicted as a demanding wife who took pleasure in making his life miserable.

One video showed him tearfully facing a table full of food, with the same sorrowful music playing. The caption read: “Spent all afternoon preparing a feast for my wife. But she’s craving lobster, nearly overturned the table. I gave her two hundred dollars so she could go grab some. Guess I’ll just eat this all myself. Don’t want it to go to waste.”

The comments section was full of people cursing me out. I couldn’t help but smirk. The food on that table had actually been prepared by me.

Earlier that evening, Elroy had called and claimed his friends wanted to taste my cooking. He insisted that I have a table full of dishes ready by seven so he wouldn’t lose face.

It was already five when he called and I rushed to the market, bought ingredients and spent over an hour cooking a lavish feast. Just as I sat down to catch my breath, there was a knock at the door.

Elroy walked in alone.

I asked where his friends were and he shrugged nonchalantly. “They had something come up and couldn’t make it.”

“All of them?” I asked, my frustration mounting. It might have been a coincidence if just one person canceled, but for not a single one to show up was clearly intentional.

He avoided my gaze and responded with irritation. “Why are you pissed? It’s not like your cooking is Michelin-star quality. Stop being dramatic.”

His words were harsh and commanding as he flung his shoes aside. “Get my shoes and put them on the rack.”

I managed to keep my expression neutral as I picked up the shoes and then turned to head upstairs to gather my things. When I came back down, I halted at the top of the stairs upon hearing Elroy’s voice coming from the living room.

“Did you see the photos I sent to the group?” Elroy said, his tone full of smug satisfaction. There was a brief pause before he continued, “I told you that cheap woman listens to me. I tell her to go east, she doesn’t dare go west. I told her to make a feast and she did it right away. All of you owe me. A hundred bucks each… hahaha.”

My steps faltered as the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. The whole story about guests coming over and the sudden cancellations—it was all a fabrication. He had been playing me for a fool, using my emotions and my dignity to win bets and make money.

“Elroy!” I snapped, my voice sharp and angry.

I stormed downstairs, reaching for his phone. Elroy, caught off guard by my outburst, jumped and instinctively swatted my hand away. His face darkened with anger. “Have you lost your mind? How dare you yell at me?”

“You called and said we had guests coming. I rushed to the market, bought all the ingredients and cooked as fast as I could. Do you have any idea how frantic and exhausted I was? And it turns out it was all just for your stupid bet. Shame on you, Elroy!”

“Shame on me?” Elroy retorted, his voice rising. “Before pointing fingers, why don’t you look at yourself? We’ve been married for three years and you still haven’t given me a child. Now, whose fault is that?” His expression hardened as he continued, “Look, I really want this marriage to work. But I can’t do it all myself. I can’t keep being understanding when you make a big deal out of everything. If you can’t tolerate the small mistakes I make, then maybe we should end it. Let’s get a divorce!” He squinted at me, his face a mask of bitterness.

“You—”

That night ended with me storming out of the house, unable to endure Elroy’s verbal abuse and humiliation any longer. He used my hard work to paint himself as the victim in his videos, crafting a false image of a devoted husband.

Thinking back to that night when I had come crawling back, apologizing and begging him not to divorce me, I felt a wave of self-loathing. Why had I been so weak? Watching his pathetic videos now, I couldn’t help but smirk. If he wanted attention, I’d give him that and more. When he was at his peak, I’d be the one to bring him down and watch him crash.