Divorced for the 9th Time

I married the same man nine times. And each time, he left me for his first love, divorcing me nine times as well.

The first time we parted, I lost control and threw all his belongings out the door.

By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind out of fear he might never return.

The eighth time, I had learned to obediently pack his things, careful not to upset him.

My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before.

Until this time. This time, I packed my own things and left without telling him.

A month from now, I will be gone for good.

"One month from now, we'll remarry."

Jake Reacher casually took the divorce papers from my hands, speaking words meant to comfort me.

When I signed, my heart was still. No waves of emotion stirred. I didn't even feel the urge to respond to his words.

"Alison."

Jake frowned, clearly displeased with my silence, and repeated himself.

"Oh. Okay."

I paused my packing and looked back at him, a trace of helplessness in my eyes.

Jake was a man who kept his promises. Every time we divorced, he would tell me when our next reunion would be. He had only ever lied to me once—on our wedding day, holding me close, whispering, "From now on, I'll love only you."

Men who are good with words are always liars.

He seemed slightly surprised at my composure. In the past, after signing the papers, I would collapse, sobbing uncontrollably in front of him.

"So, this time… I'm moving out…"

Jake hesitated over his words, but I cut him off.

"No need. I'll move out. I'm almost done packing."

Surprise flashed across his face.

The first time we divorced, I had lost control and thrown his things out of the house.

By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind, terrified he might never return.

The eighth time, I had learned to pack his things obediently, careful not to upset him.

My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before.

Three days ago, he had given me a gift. It wasn't expensive, but it was thoughtful—a necklace in a style I liked.

I forced a smile, but my chest ached. In our marriage, kindness was rare; small gestures always seemed to foreshadow deeper hurt.

That night, I couldn't sleep. Secretly, I checked his phone. Pinned at the top was his first love, Carla Davidson.

Carla: [I'm coming back to the country.]

Just one sentence, yet it sentenced our ninth marriage to death.

I opened another message—a conversation between Jake and a friend.

[Alison is really great. Don't leave this time. Weren't you going to forget Carla?]

His reply was simple: [Tried. Can't.]

All those sleepless nights, all that pain, suddenly felt released.

I shook my head and stepped out of the memories.

Under Jake's deep gaze, I finished packing my things.

Carrying my luggage, I walked toward the door, plotting my permanent departure from the city.

Behind me, his voice rang out, "Alison. One month from now, we'll remarry."

I didn't answer. I just waved, acknowledging him.

Coincidentally, my flight abroad was scheduled for exactly one month later.

…

After moving out of the Reacher residence, I settled into the apartment my parents had left me. As usual, Jake didn't make any effort to contact me—not once.

Only twenty days remained before my departure. That day, I was shopping with my best friend, Hannah Ridgewood. She chattered nonstop, cursed Jake, and after a few minutes, lowered her voice.