After having the 111th Cold War with Shawn Stewart, I found two theater tickets in his coat pocket.

"I wanted to give you a birthday surprise. Since you've found them, let's meet this weekend," he said indifferently.

On the weekend, I dressed up and waited until the end of the play, but he never showed up.

I checked my phone and saw a tweet by his childhood sweetheart.

[Although I didn't get the tickets, I forgive you for accompanying me to the movies in the pouring rain.]

In the past, I would have immediately called Shawn, crying and demanding an explanation.

But now I was tired.

A once-in-a-century thunderstorm paralyzed the city's transportation.

The theater closed. Without an umbrella or a chance to hail a cab, I limped towards the street in my high heels.

My phone rang. It was Shawn calling.

"Where are you? A married woman out so late," he asked impatiently.

My silence only aggravated his annoyance.

"Have you lost your voice, Janet Ward?" he snapped.

"I'm at the Provincial Theater," I responded.

Shawn finally remembered our plans.

There was a long silence before he spoke again. "Send me your location, I'm coming over."

I hadn't intended for him to come pick me up, but someone accidentally bumped into me.

I fell into the mud and sprained my ankle, unable to walk.

An hour and twenty-three minutes later, I huddled miserably in the raging storm and looked at the chat interface one last time before my phone died.

Shawn didn't come or send any messages.

In the end, a kind-hearted driver took me to a nearby hotel.

I checked in, charged my phone, and habitually checked out Emily Coleman's FB page.

Half an hour ago, she posted a new update.

[No power? No problem. A knight escorted me back to my castle.]

The picture showed her father and Shawn drinking coffee together.

I blocked and deleted Emily.

After a moment's thought, I treated Shawn the same.

Married for six years, no matter how we argued, I never deleted Shawn.

But now I was truly tired.

The next day was Monday. I went from the hotel to the company.

Just as I arrived at my desk, my boss looked at me strangely.

"The HR department just told me you were taking sick leave today," he said.

Shawn, the vice president of this company, ordered me to rest, and the HR department had no objections.

I smiled and said I wasn't sick.

During lunch break, when I went to the pantry to make coffee, Shawn unexpectedly appeared.

He usually worked on the top floor and had never condescended to find me before.

This was the first time, but his expression was cold.

"Is it fun to stay out all night, Janet? You know my temper. If this happens again..." he started.

I cut him off, saying, "Don't worry, there won't be a next time."

I was going to divorce him.

Then our paths would not cross again.

How could there be a next time?

My unusually calm attitude left him stunned.

He didn't expect me not to ask where he had been last night.

After I finished making the coffee, he took it for a sip, frowned with disgust, and poured it.

"Meet me at the parking lot after work. I'll take you out to dinner," he said.

I knew this was his way of making up for standing me up yesterday.

Since I had something to say to him, I agreed.

When I went back, I saw the milk and sweets my colleagues had put on my desk, along with a sticky note. [Happy Birthday, Janet.]

I turned aside and wiped my tears.

I finished the milk and sweets, worked hard until the end of the shift, and then went to the parking lot as Shawn instructed.

Just as I saw him, he started the engine and drove straight past me.

He didn't even look at me.

He had just called him, saying he had a last-minute appointment, and asked him to head to the restaurant alone.

At the restaurant, I found a seat, called over a waiter, and ordered my favorite wine steak.

Shawn was always busy, and I was used to waiting.

My stomach issue was developed in the process.

The wine steak was delicious.

I had two plates of it and felt content even though Shawn had stood me up again.

Shawn returned home in the middle of the night.

He noticed that the lights in the hallway and living room were off.

In our six years of marriage, whenever he went out drinking or socializing, no matter how late, I would always prepare hangover medicine, curl up on the sofa, and wait for him to come back.

Shawn didn't like me doing this, so he often stayed out all night.

He'd pointed to my dark circles and laughed at me.

"Janet, are you not feeling well?"

He walked into the room and tried to take my temperature.

I dodged his hand and frowned.

"It's late, go take a shower," I said.

The smell of alcohol on him made me nauseous.

Shawn sat beside me, squinting at his phone.

There were no missed calls.

That was odd.

Normally, I would take pleasure in ruining his mood when he drank.

I'd tell him not to drink too much and use a designated driver.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I couldn't get out of tonight's dinner. Tomorrow I'll make it up to you by having a meal together. That should satisfy you, right?"

I blinked. "No need, just do your thing."

My sincere words were met with Shawn's mocking laughter.

"Don't push my luck, Janet. I'm too busy to argue with you," he said.

An email came in. I quickly checked it out.

"Even in your busiest moments, you find time for movies and coffee. You're quite the time manager," I blurted out.

At my words, Shawn's face darkened.

He explained he'd known Emily since childhood. She was afraid of the dark, so he had to ride her to her parents' place last night.

"Janet, do you do anything other than imagine things all day? You've really disappointed me," he said.

Before tonight, his words would have made me cry and driven me to pour out my feelings to him.

But tonight, after hearing his accusations, I just held my phone and said nothing.

He didn't know I was reading the divorce agreement sent by the lawyer.

Sensing Shawn approaching, I quickly turned off the screen.

"What are you looking at?" He asked.

"Nothing, I'm tired. I'm going to sleep," I replied.

He left for the study room and slammed the door shut.

It was the classic start of a cold war.

A year ago, I would have begged him to come out and talk to me.

But tonight, there were no tears, only the sound of the printer clicking away.

I printed the divorce papers, sighed them, and put them away in the bedside cabinet.

Then I turned off the lights. Despite my insomnia, I slept well that night.

The next day, Shawn called me on the landline, summoning me up to the rooftop.

"Long time no see, Janet."

Emily sat in the chair, innocently smiling at me.

"I see Shawn every day and keep telling him to bring you out with us, but he never listens," she said.

Emily was an internet celebrity, young, beautiful, and stylish.

Every time I saw her, I couldn't help but feel plain in comparison.

But today, she didn't see any hint of inferiority in me.

I even smiled at her. "Don't worry about it. I'm quite the homebody. You guys just have fun."

At my words, Shawn turned from the floor-to-ceiling window to look at me.

The faint dark circles under his eyes made it clear he hadn't slept well last night.

"Emily's hungry. Get my lunch for her," he said.

Married for marriage, I prepared lunches in various styles for Shawn every day.

Last Friday, I overheard him complaining to his assistant. He said that the food I made was awful and that it was what happened when someone married the wrong woman.

Thinking about this, I calmly said, "I didn't prepare lunch today."

Shawn looked at me incredulously and asked a foolish question, "Why didn't you prepare? You know I only eat the lunch you make."

Emily interjected sarcastically, "Shawn, you must have upset Janet. Otherwise, how could she bear to let you go hungry?"

Shawn's face darkened momentarily. Then he suddenly asked what I wanted to eat and instructed his assistant to order takeout.

"No need, just order what Emily likes. I'll grab something from a restaurant near the office," I replied, turning to leave.

Shawn hastily grabbed his suit jacket and insisted on coming with me.

In the end, I had to dine with them.

Throughout the meal, Shawn and Emily kept chatting.

They had grown up together, discussing people and things I knew nothing about.

I had tried to join in.

But every time I spoke, Shawn would grow impatient.

At first, he criticized me for not being able to keep up with the conversation.

Later, as I became more cautious and silent, he accused me of acting aloof and deliberately ignoring his friends.

Since everything I did was wrong, I chose to remain silent and focus solely on tasting the food.

After eating my fill, I went to the restroom. When I returned, Emily had already left.

"Janet, you had quite an appetite today," Shawn said.

After paying the bill, Shawn stood up, smiling as he glanced at my bulging belly.

I reached out and plucked a false eyelash stuck to his left cheek.

I never wore false eyelashes.

Shawn realized it and panicked a little.

"Don't misunderstand, Emily got something in her eye just now, so I had to get close to help her," he explained, furrowing his brow.

I hummed and started walking ahead.

Shawn stood frozen for a while, then hurried to catch up with me.

As we neared the office building, I said without looking back, "I'll go in first. You can return to the office in a few minutes."

Except for Shawn's assistant, no one in the entire company knew I was Shawn's wife.

Actually, the company policy didn't prohibit office romance.

It was just that when Shawn and I first started dating, he found it troublesome to make it public.

Over time, even if we bumped into each other at work, we silently pretended not to know each other.

That evening, Shawn left work on time, bringing back flowers and a brand bag.

Expecting praise, he was surprised when I handed him a divorce agreement.

"Let's get divorced," I said.

The flowers fell to the ground as Shawn picked up the agreement and flipped through a few pages.

His expression barely changed, but his grip on the papers tightened.

"You're playing this one seriously, printing out a divorce agreement," he said.

He threw the papers at me, sat down on the couch, and undid two buttons of his shirt with a sneer.

Bending down, I picked up the divorce agreement.

I remained composed. "This time, I'm serious."

... Shawn scoffed, "When weren't you serious? It's a divorce agreement this time. Are you planning to hire actors and bring the courtroom home next time?"