"Thanks again for helping with the immigration paperwork."

The words had barely left my mouth when the bedroom door suddenly swung open.

"Immigration? What immigration?" Gary walked in carrying a paper shopping bag, confusion in his voice.

My heart skipped, but I ended the call calmly. "Nothing. A friend is planning to move overseas and asked for my opinion."

Gary frowned, clearly suspicious.

He was about to ask more when he noticed the bed. Every inch of it was covered in documents.

He froze.

"Why did you take all of these out?"

He tossed the bag aside and picked up one of the papers at random.

"Fifty-eight? There are this many?"

A flicker of panic crossed his face. His eyes scanned the bed, clearly searching for the latest divorce agreement.

But I was faster. I gathered the papers into a pile and shoved them back into the locked box.

Then, I changed the subject as if nothing had happened.

"Why are you back? Weren't you supposed to be with Priscilla? Aren't you worried she'll get mad?"

In the past, the moment I mentioned Priscilla, Gary would immediately shift his attention away from me.

But today, something was different.

He tugged at his tie and spoke in a low voice, "Aren't you happy I came home?"

I froze. My body felt stiff, like a statue.

"Of course, I'm happy."

His expression softened a little.

Almost proudly, he handed me the paper bag from the floor.

Inside was a soft gray designer handbag.

"Didn't your mom always want one of these?" he said. "A friend of mine just got back from Caldrith, so I had him bring it back. Take it to your mom tomorrow."

For a moment, I didn't know if he was pretending to be innocent or deliberately trying to provoke me.

My mother died three months ago because of him.

What was this supposed to be? A burial offering?

Tears suddenly streamed down my face. I jumped off the bed, grabbed a pair of scissors, and started hacking the bag to pieces.

"What are you doing?"

Gary stared at me in shock, reaching out to stop me.

"Do you know how hard it was to get that bag? Even Priscilla asked for one, and I didn't give it to her. What the heck are you doing?"

I swung my hand and slapped him across the face. My voice broke as I shouted.

"Then give it to her! Why give it to me? Gary, you're disgusting!"

The room went silent. We both froze.

In the five years we had been married, aside from the first few fights, I had never lost control in front of him again.

Because I always remembered the night I received the 32nd agreement.

The night I lost our baby.

I stood barefoot on the cold floor, my hair a mess, completely out of my mind. I had grabbed Gary and screamed that I wanted to die with him.

He had calmly pried my fingers off him one by one. Then, he sighed and said coldly, "If I'd known you were this crazy, I wouldn't have helped you back then."

So the man who once saved me when I needed him most had long regretted it.

Tears and mucus smeared across my face. I was shaking so badly that I could barely breathe. I gripped the edge of the bed, as if I might collapse.

Gary stepped forward, trying to steady me.

But then, I caught the scent on him.

It was jasmine, Priscilla's favorite perfume.

For five years, night after night, I had fallen asleep with that smell lingering in the air. My drawer had been filled with allergy medication because of it.

Thinking about it now, I almost laughed.

I steadied myself and pushed Gary away, ignoring the complicated look in his eyes.

I didn't even bother packing. I only took the box filled with those ridiculous divorce agreements.

Step by step, I walked out of the house.

Two more days.

In two days, even if he searched every corner of this country, he still wouldn't find me.

-

At 3 a.m., I finally fell into a deep sleep in my hotel suite.

Gary didn't sleep at all that night.

When I woke up the next day, I checked my phone.

Thirty-eight missed calls.

The first one came seven minutes after I left the house.

The last one came at 6 a.m.

After washing up and grabbing some breakfast, I spent the whole day lying around in the hotel room.

It wasn't until 8 p.m. that I finally called a cab and headed home.

I had already checked Priscilla's social media.

Tonight, she and Gary were supposed to be at the movies.

Gary and Priscilla would be at a private theater, and they probably wouldn't come home all night.

I got out of the car, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The living room lights suddenly flicked on.

Gary was sitting there.

For a second, I froze. Instinctively, I almost asked why he was home.

But the thought faded just as quickly as it appeared.

Without even looking at Gary, I walked past him, went upstairs, and started packing.

I didn't have much to pack. And anything connected to Gary, I left behind.

Gary followed me upstairs in silence. When he saw me packing, panic flickered briefly across his face.

"Are you going on a trip?"

I kept folding my clothes. "Yeah. Need a change of scenery."

"Where to? When's your flight? How long will you be gone?"

I casually made something up. "Clearford. The flight's tomorrow. I'll be gone for seven days."

Gary studied my face carefully, as if he was trying to catch me in a lie.

Luckily, I was good at pretending.

"Clearford, huh? Nice place."

He kept talking, clearly searching for something to say.

"Have you booked a hotel yet? I stayed at a really good one there before. Want me to reserve it for you?"

I paused for a moment.

The last time he went there had been my birthday. My mother was already seriously ill then.

I had asked Gary two weeks in advance. I begged him to spend my birthday with me.

He agreed.

But right after that, Priscilla posted a photo of two plane tickets on her social media.

The departure date was my birthday.

The familiar exhaustion washed over me again.

I shook my head slightly and answered calmly, "No need."

Anywhere Gary had stayed with Priscilla felt filthy to me.

Being rejected again and again darkened Gary's expression.

In the past, he would've already snapped at me and stormed out.

But today, maybe because of some irritation he couldn't explain, he simply pressed his lips together and stayed where he stood.

"What…"

A harsh ringtone cut him off.

Gary pulled out his phone impatiently. After one glance at the screen, his face changed.

"Priscilla was in a car accident. She's at the hospital."

He dropped the words and rushed toward the door.

Just as he stepped outside, he suddenly stopped.

"What time's your flight tomorrow? I'll drive you."

I looked up, surprised. "It's fine. I…"

"I insist," Gary interrupted me quickly.

His eyes swept over my phone, which was lying on the bed.

Right then, a notification popped up.

It was a reminder for my 10 a.m. flight tomorrow.

"I'll be here at eight," he said firmly. "I'll take you."

After giving me one last long look, he hurried out.

I stood there for a while.

Then, I calmly picked up my phone and deleted the flight information.

Luckily, he hadn't seen the destination.

It wasn't Clearford.

It was…Montara.

That night, even though I knew no one cared, I opened my social media and posted something for the first time in a long while.

[Goodbye to these past five years.]

As usual, no one liked the post.

Ever since Gary and Priscilla made their relationship public, none of my friends had reached out to me again.

Maybe they all thought I was a failure.

I didn't care anymore.

I put my phone away and slept soundly.

At 8 a.m. the next day, I took a cab to the airport.

Gary never showed up.

Before leaving, I placed the signed divorce agreement on the table and sent him a message, reminding him to check it.

At 9 a.m., I passed through security.

Gary still hadn't replied.

I opened our chat and deleted him.

At 10 a.m., I boarded the plane.

As the plane prepared for takeoff, I began deleting every photo and message related to him from my phone.

Outside the airport, a black Maybach screeched to a stop.

Gary jumped out, sweat covering his face, and rushed toward the departure gates.

He grabbed a staff member and demanded, "The ten o'clock flight to Clearford. Has it taken off? My wife is on it. Let me see her."

The staff member blinked in confusion. "Sir… There isn't a flight to Clearford today. The flight leaving now is headed to Montara."