Ten years of marriage. Ninety-nine affairs.

I never divorced him, because before the wedding he'd bought 100 urns.

“You've always loved your rituals. If I'm ever unfaithful after we're married, you put the proof inside an urn.”

“Once all hundred are used up, our marriage is officially dead, and I leave with nothing.”

“This is my promise to grow old with you. I'm betting not a single one will ever be opened.”

He seemed to forget about them after that.

I never reminded him.

I just slipped the private investigator's photos into an urn when he and that famous livestreamer were strolling through lavender fields in Provence.

Tucked the ticket stubs into another when he followed a principal ballerina on her world tour.

Until the day of our tenth anniversary, when he broke his promise to come to my prenatal appointment.

He ran off to celebrate the birthday of April Cooley, the student he'd been sponsoring.

“Lottie, you've always been independent—you'll be fine at the checkup on your own. But April's different. I can't let her spend her birthday alone.”

My fingers tightened around the phone until the knuckles went white.

“There's only one urn left.”

“Don't be morbid,” he said, irritation bleeding through. “It's April's birthday. Why would you bring up urns?”

I didn't argue. I hung up.

He didn't want the chance I was giving him.

Then he could leave the marriage with nothing.

……

I canceled the prenatal appointment. Got an abortion instead.

When it was over, I went home alone.

Numb, I opened the hundredth urn.

A quiet “click.”

Two documents slid out.

A signed divorce agreement.

And a notarized forfeiture agreement, in Winston Farley's name, leaving him with nothing.

Beneath them lay a handwritten note, the penmanship young and reckless.

【Lottie, you've suffered enough. Walk forward. Don't look back.】

Winston at twenty—still aching for me across the years he couldn't see.

Winston at thirty had given that tenderness to someone else a long time ago.

I placed the post-procedure report inside, expressionless.

Closed the lid.

And sealed ten years of marriage along with it.

My phone lit up. A photo from him.

Fireworks blazing across the night sky, their light falling soft on April Cooley's profile.

“You love fireworks, don't you? Make a wish.”

I said nothing. I looked around the room.

The decorations I'd put up early for our tenth anniversary.

Photos covering every wall, from school uniforms to wedding portraits.

Balloons heaped on the floor, string lights wound through every corner.

Only the petals had wilted. The frosting had melted.

And outside the window, the fireworks he'd lit up half the city with were blooming for someone else.

I replied with four words：【Come home soon.】

The simplest wish. He never answered.

Silence was his answer.

I sat there until dawn. Then he came home.

Gift boxes followed, filling half the living room.

A rare pink diamond won at Sotheby's. A nineteenth-century oil painting I'd once lingered in front of. A custom Swiss watch……

“Anniversary gifts. Do you like them?”

He knew how much rituals mattered to me, and still chose to make up for it after the fact.

He always did this.

Buried the conflict under gifts, casually, as if my pain wasn't worth mentioning.

I pushed the divorce agreement across the table.

“Sign it.”

He paused for a beat, then amusement surfaced in his eyes.

“Well, aren't you obedient. You already know I'm marrying April?”

My fingertips trembled, hard.

He didn't seem to notice. He took the papers and signed without hesitation.

“She's young. I'm her whole world. She's been begging me to marry her, and I don't want to let her down.”

“You've been very good about this. Name your reward—want me to find you a postpartum center so you can rest up and take care of the baby?”

He reached out to touch my face.

I tilted away without making it obvious, my voice flat. “I'm not keeping it.”

His fingers froze. His expression darkened. “You know how hard it was to conceive this baby. I don't want to hear that out of your mouth again.”

I laughed—a ridiculous, broken laugh.

I thought I was the only one who remembered.

Miscarrying our first child eight years ago after I drank at one of his business dinners. The pain. The collapse.

The doctor telling me I might never conceive again, and the hollow not-knowing that followed.

Him staying by my side, day and night, telling me just the two of us was enough for a lifetime.

Eight years of trying. Eight years of hope crushed flat, month after month.

And then, finally, the second baby. Sobbing so hard from joy I couldn't breathe.

His promises still echoed in my ears. But now he wouldn't even come to a prenatal appointment.

He stared at my smile and suddenly asked, “Why are you crying?”

I blinked. Raised my hand. My fingers came away cold and wet.

Something complicated moved through his eyes, and his voice softened.

“No one can replace your place in my heart.”

“It's just a ceremony—no papers. Once I've smoothed things over with her, I'll remarry you.”

I looked at him, long and steady. “Didn't you say you'd make it up to me? Take me on a trip. Let's go right now.”

He looked away. ：“There's still the wedding to prepare for……”

“Of course.” I nodded.

My calm unnerved him. A flicker of panic crossed his face, and for once he tried to explain. ：“I just don't think I could give you my full attention right now……”

Before he could finish, his phone rang.

A girl's voice, tearful, saying she woke up and couldn't find him. His tone changed instantly, soothing and urgent, and he was already walking toward the door.

At the threshold he cupped the phone against his shoulder and tossed back one last line. “Next time. I'll go with you next time.”

Then he was gone.

One “next time,” and ten thousand miles opened between us.

I dialed a number I hadn't called in years.

“Dad. I want to come home.”

“How about Farley Group as a welcome-home present?”

I started packing, planning one last trip. A farewell tour.

Ten years of marriage deserved its own kind of ceremony at the end.

I didn't see Winston's message until I zipped the suitcase shut.

“April likes this house. Move out. I'm having it renovated for the wedding.”

My heart felt like it had been ground under a needle—tiny, dense stabs of pain, one after another.

Ten years really was too long.

Long enough for him to forget that I bought this house with every cent I had.

When we got married, he had nothing. Couldn't afford a house. Couldn't even afford a wedding.

All we did was sign the papers.

I didn't mind. He was the one who cried, harder than me, his voice shaking apart.

“You walked away from being the Pruitt family's princess for this. What could you possibly see in me?”

I smiled. “Your heart. That's all I ever wanted.”

He buried his face in my neck and swore. ：“I will never betray you. Not in this lifetime.”

In the beginning.

Every night he'd dry my hair for me.

On the bad nights, when cramps curled me up and wouldn't let me sleep, he'd pull me close and rub my belly until morning.

Whenever he was home, I never washed a single dish, never cooked a single meal.

When did it start to change?

Some questions don't have answers worth chasing.

Some things, once they spoil, are better thrown away.

I called a cleaning crew and had every last thing of his packed up and tossed.

Then I changed the locks. No one was getting in but me.

Once everything was settled, I grabbed my suitcase and headed straight for the airport.

On the way, every billboard and mall screen was running his wedding announcement with April.

The way he looked at her, so tender it practically spilled off the screen.

I gave a quiet, self-mocking laugh.

I'd thought his growing coldness was just the iron and composure the business world had forged in him.

The moon had been high all along—it simply never shone on me.

At least nature holds everyone, even the ones no one else will.

I went to East Africa and watched the wildebeest migration. To Hokkaido, where the red leaves drifted down. To New Zealand, where fields of lupins stretched across every hillside.

The last stop was Norway.

The aurora looked alive, drifting through the night sky like spirits.

In the perfect silence, the only sound I could hear was the hammering of my own heart.

So watching the Northern Lights alone could be romantic too.

I remembered the day his company went public. He'd bought a pair of diamond rings, the best he could afford at the time.

When he dropped to one knee and looked up at me, his eyes held an entire galaxy.

“I'll be richer soon. I'll trade these in for something bigger.”

“Maybe I won't be so busy then. I'll take you to Norway to see the Northern Lights you're always talking about. We'll have a belated destination wedding.”

“Our tenth anniversary. Deal?”

Now my shadow stretched across the snow, so alone it seemed to mock every word he'd ever said.

I took a photo and posted it to my feed.

【Be your own light. Stop chasing someone else's.】

I scrolled down. Winston, who had never once posted about me, had been posting constantly.

He wouldn't travel with me, but he'd flown April all over the world.

Under the Eiffel Tower. In the golden dusk of Prague's Old Town Square. On the canals of Venice……

Sweet couple photos from every stop.

The Van Cleef & Arpels limited-edition necklace at her throat glinted so bright it hurt to look at.

He'd bid nine million for that piece last month. Heritage Collection.

When the press asked about it, he said it was a gift for the woman he loved.

I'd believed he would clasp it around my neck himself on our tenth anniversary.

I was the only fool in the room.

The trip was almost over.

On my way back, I stopped to inspect one of the Pruitt family's hotels.

If I was going home, I should start getting familiar with the family business.

At check-in, the staff bowed with quiet deference.

“How long will you be staying, Miss Pruitt? Anything you need, just say the word.”

I didn't want to draw attention, so I told them to treat me like any other guest.

Even on an inspection trip, I wanted some peace and quiet.

I couldn't even have that.

Walking through the garden, I saw Winston and April.

A team of photographers surrounded them. They were taking wedding portraits.

He was carefully adjusting her veil, every movement carrying a tenderness I hadn't seen from him in years.

So it wasn't just a trip.

The belated destination wedding he'd promised me, he'd given to someone else.

When he noticed me, Winston's brow creased on instinct.

“I said I'd take you next time. What are you doing here—following me?”

“We're divorced. Stay in your lane.”

Before I could speak, April tugged his sleeve, her voice soft and sweet. “Baby, don't be so harsh.”

“I can't decide on my next dress anyway. Let Lottie help me pick?”

His expression eased. He nodded. “Fine. Her eye's not bad.”

When they handed me the tablet with the design sketches, my hand shook so badly I nearly dropped it.

Both dresses were ones I had designed when I was young, back when we'd barely been together.

I was still the starry-eyed Pruitt princess, head full of daydreams.

Dreaming about the wedding. Dreaming about the dress. Dreaming about the life we'd build together.

When my family found out about the relationship, my parents, who cared deeply about pedigree, refused outright.

They never imagined their obedient daughter would run away from home for a penniless orphan.

But they didn't understand.

He wrote me an entire notebook of love poems.

He pinned the classmate who said filthy things about me to the ground and beat him bloody.

He saved three months' wages to buy a stuffed animal I'd mentioned once in passing.