My husband used to love me so much.

Back then, he proposed 99 times just to marry me. It wasn't until the 100th proposal that I was finally moved by his persistence and became the envied Mrs. Frederick Morrison of Harbor City.

On our wedding day, I gave him 99 reconciliation vouchers. We agreed that as long as these vouchers weren't used up, I would stay by his side forever.

…

It's been five years since then. Every time Frederick goes out to see another woman, he uses up one reconciliation voucher.

Gradually, he suddenly notices that I've changed. I no longer cry or beg him to stay. Only when he loses his mind over his innocent secretary again do I quietly ask him, "Frederick, if you don't come back tonight, can I use a reconciliation voucher?"

He pauses mid-step, then immediately turns. "Of course."

He thinks he still has many reconciliation vouchers. He doesn't realize this is his last one.

Frederick Morrison and I had been married for five years without any children.

Today was the celebration party for Morrison Group's successful bid on the East District project. It was also the ninth day since Frederick and I had agreed to start trying for a baby.

However, when Frederick's innocent secretary, Emma Wells, knocked over the champagne tower, spilling wine all over our business partner, he immediately stepped in to shield her.

Then, he turned to me dismissively. "Cecilia, apologize to Mr. Carter."

I froze, unable to believe what I was hearing. The business partner, Luke Carter, frowned and pointed angrily at Emma. "Mr. Morrison, it was that young lady who made the mistake. I only want her apology."

Emma's eyes welled up as she tugged at Frederick's sleeve, looking like she'd been terribly wronged. Frederick gently patted her hand, then turned to me with complete indifference.

"What are you standing there for? Drink with Mr. Carter right now. If one glass isn't enough, make it two. Just make sure he's satisfied."

It seemed he had forgotten we were trying to conceive, or maybe he simply didn't care. The people around us began whispering, their eyes filled with pity for me. Everyone knew this wasn't my fault, but they could see that Frederick was determined to protect Emma.

I wanted to refuse, but Frederick seemed to expect this and silently mouthed to me. "Reconciliation voucher."

Years ago, when he wanted to marry me, he had proposed 99 times. I had rejected him that many times.

I thought he would give up, but on the 100th time, Frederick gathered all my family and friends and swore publicly, "Cecilia, you're the only woman for me. Even if you don't say yes now, I'll keep proposing until you agree to marry me."

I was moved by his persistent love and finally said yes. On our wedding night, I had 99 reconciliation vouchers specially made to repay his devotion. We agreed that as long as these vouchers weren't used up, we would never separate.

For the first three years, Frederick treasured them and never used a single one. However, after Emma appeared, he had used 96 vouchers in just two short years.

Now, this was the 97th.

My fingers gripping the wine glass paled slightly as I forced a smile and walked over to our business partner. "Mr. Carter, let me apologize with a drink."

Luke sighed and told me a sip would be enough. However, I still smiled and drank the entire glass of red wine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frederick gently touching Emma's nose, his voice gentle. "Silly, don't run so fast next time. What if you get hurt?"

Emma grabbed his hand, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I know, Mr. Morrison. You're so good to me."

She was right. Frederick was truly good to her.

The wine I'd swallowed finally hit my throat, the burn making my eyes water. It didn't matter, I told myself. There were only two vouchers left anyway.

…

After the reception ended, I naturally walked toward the passenger side of the car. The moment I touched the door handle, I heard the sharp click of the locks engaging.

Frederick rolled down his window and looked at me coldly. "Take a cab. I just had the car washed, and you reek of alcohol."

He seemed to have forgotten why I reeked of alcohol in the first place, the disgust in his eyes unmistakable under the streetlights.

Normally, I would have frantically tried drinking water, tearfully explaining that it was just a little wine and that the smell wasn't that bad. Perhaps I might have even broken down right there on the street, demanding through my tears why he'd made me apologize for Emma.

However, this time, I simply smiled and nodded. "Alright. Drive safely."

Frederick's grip on the steering wheel loosened, and he looked at me instinctively. "Cecilia..."

Before he could finish, Emma pushed past me with a laugh. "Mr. Morrison, I'm all ready. Let's go."

She wore Frederick's suit jacket over her dress, which still carried the sharp scent of alcohol from when she'd knocked over the champagne tower. However, Frederick didn't mind at all. He not only opened the car door for her personally but also carefully adjusted his jacket around her shoulders.

"It's cold out there. Don't catch a cold."

Only after all this did he remember to look at me, guilt flickering in his eyes. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just looking out for Emma because she's young and alone."

I nodded. "I understand."

Afraid he wouldn't believe me, I added, "Besides, you used a reconciliation voucher, didn't you? I won't be angry."

Frederick froze, about to say something more, but Emma sneezed and immediately recaptured his attention.

"Get home early," he said, and then they drove off.

I watched their car disappear into the distance, unable to stop myself from shivering.

Back home, I pulled out the piggy bank where I kept our reconciliation vouchers from the closet. The slips of paper that used to be easy to reach now required me to dig around for a long time before I could pull one out.

After tearing up the 97th voucher, I opened my laptop and began drafting divorce papers. To ensure a fair divorce, I even consulted my law professor, Samuel Powell. "Mr. Powell, if I divorce Frederick, how should we divide the assets?"

Mr. Powell was surprised by my question. "Divorce? Why?

"Everyone at the university knows that Frederick proposed to you 100 times. It's still talked about as one of the great campus love stories. Why would you want a divorce now?"

It was something I wondered too. How had we gotten to this point?

It probably started with the increasingly strong perfume scent on his clothes and his increasingly frequent nights away from home, with the vouchers in the piggy bank disappearing one by one because of Emma.

I knew then that we could never go back.

Sensing my silence, Mr. Powell stopped trying to persuade me and simply asked, "I'll help you write the divorce agreement. When do you need it?"

I turned to look at the piggy bank, my voice flat. "When Frederick uses up his last two chances."

As I finished speaking, the bedroom door was pushed open.

"What chances?" Frederick walked in carrying a paper bag, his tone puzzled.

After hanging up the phone, I calmly shut down my laptop. "It's nothing. I was just discussing a divorce case with Mr. Powell."

Frederick's expression changed instantly, and he rushed over to me. "What divorce? Do you want to divorce me?"

I took two steps back and replied dismissively, "No, it's a case. Mr. Powell wanted my opinion on something."

Only then did Frederick relax, handing me the paper bag he'd been carrying. "This is for you."

The logo on the bag belonged to my favorite bakery. Before we were married, whenever he upset me, he would run to this shop to buy me a cake. The place was always busy, requiring at least two hours of waiting in line each time.

He would personally wait in line regardless of the weather to make me happy, just because I wanted some. Sometimes I felt bad for him and suggested he hire a delivery service instead.

However, Frederick would always say, "Cece, it's fine. I'm more than happy to do it for you."

Remembering this warmed my heart, and I couldn't help but smile as I took the bag and opened it. "I can't believe you still remember. Wait, what is this?"

I stared at him in shock, a terrible feeling rising in my chest. Inside the bag weren't the cakes I expected, but two pieces of clothing that reeked of alcohol. One was Frederick's suit jacket, and the other was the dress Emma had worn tonight.

Faced with my questioning look, Frederick seemed unusually embarrassed. "Emma's dress got dirty. I figured since you're used to doing the laundry anyway, it's just as easy to wash two articles of clothing. So I just brought them both back."

Then, he seemed to remember something, and his tone turned dismissive. "Besides, I'll just use another reconciliation voucher. We have so many left anyway, so you don't need to be petty about it."

All my words got stuck in my throat. I wanted to tell him that there weren't many left, as only two vouchers remained.

However, when the words reached my lips, I just looked at him deeply. Then, I stuffed the clothes into the washing machine. Previously, I never used the machine to ensure his clothes stayed perfectly clean and always hand-washed everything piece by piece.

Looking back, I had been such a fool. What I thought was being a good wife had made me nothing more than a free housekeeper in his eyes.

I laughed bitterly at myself and closed the laundry room door before returning to the bedroom. Seeing me return so quickly, Frederick looked surprised.

"That fast? Did you get them clean? That's Emma's favorite dress, and I promised her you'd wash it properly."

I hummed in acknowledgment and began getting ready for bed.

Just then, a familiar ringtone came from outside. Frederick glanced nervously at my expression before taking his phone and sneaking out to the balcony.

I quietly followed and overheard Emma's sweet voice. "Mr. Morrison, the cake you bought me was so delicious! I've never had a cake like this before. It's just that the line was a bit long. I feel so bad."

Frederick glanced toward the bedroom and replied indulgently, "It's nothing. Whenever you want some, I'll buy it for you. I'm happy to do it for you."

Emma giggled sweetly and said coquettishly, "What about my dress? Is it really okay to have Ms. Harper wash it? I don't want to make things difficult for you."

Frederick chuckled softly. "What's difficult about it? She's used to doing it. Besides, your hands are so beautiful. I'd feel terrible if you had to do rough work like that."

I froze and instinctively looked down at my own hands.