On our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband gave me a complete set of expensive skincare products.

Lying in the hospital bed, I dialed his number and smiled as I asked him for a divorce.

A young girl's voice came from the phone, filled with grievous sobs.

"Mrs. Lance, even if my gift doesn't meet your expectations, you shouldn't treat Mr. Lance this way. He can't live without you."

While gently comforting his little canary, Harris Lance couldn't wait to say to me, "Let's see at the Family Court tomorrow."

——

I waited for over a month, but he never showed up.

It wasn't until after momo's birthday party ended that Harris returned home, smelling of alcohol and walking unsteadily, driven by his chauffeur.

"Where is my dearest little baby?"

He embraced me from behind as I bent down to clean up the mess, playfully nuzzling my neck with his nose.

My body stiffened for a moment, and I smiled, asking the nanny Linda to go back to the room first.

Once the spacious living room was empty, leaving only the two of us, I mercilessly pushed Harris onto the couch.

"Clear your schedule tomorrow morning, Friday. We're going to the Family Court to get a divorce."

I knew Harris wasn't drunk; he heard exactly what I said.

But he remained indifferent, furrowing his brow and holding his head, muttering for water.

In the past, whenever he had social engagements outside, I would stay home.

No matter how late it was, I would promptly bring him a cup of warm sobering tea.

But today, even if his voice was loud enough to wake momo, I still didn't go to the kitchen.

Harris narrowed his eyes, staring at me for a while.

Suddenly, he pulled out an exquisitely crafted small box from his pocket.

And tossed it onto the coffee table as if giving a tip.

Moving my neck, he smiled ambiguously and said to me.

"You caused such a fuss just to get this, didn't you?"

I didn't need to open it; I already knew there was a ring inside.

When I married Harris, we were both poor.

We could barely afford a wedding ring, let alone a new bed or bedding.

The night before we got our marriage certificate, Harris proposed to me on the highest hill in the city, kneeling down on one knee.

He asked me to marry him, promising to treat me well for the rest of his life and do everything in his power to give me everything I wanted.

He really did what he said.

Two years after our marriage, we had a house.

Three years later, we had a child and moved into an even bigger house.

In our nine years of marriage, he bought me countless luxury items, enough to fill up another spare house.

But there was one thing missing—a ring.

I used to think he was too busy and not attentive enough.

It wasn't until I accidentally saw him with a young girl, entering the VIP section of a jewelry store, that I realized the truth.

When they came out, the beautiful girl had a dazzling diamond ring on her hand that could blind passersby.

Rubbing my waist, I slowly sat down next to Harris. I took his hand, and naturally, our fingers interlocked like an old married couple.

With a smile, he accused me.

"Honey, you haven't given a single phone call to me recently. You're heartless. By the way, I bought many gifts for you and momo, still in the car and haven't brought them in yet."

I didn't speak; I just examined Harris's hand.

As expected, there was a faint mark from a ring.

My throat trembled uncontrollably, and I closed my eyes.

When he stood up, preparing to get the gifts from the car, I opened my eyes and spoke softly to him.

"Harris, I had a hysterectomy. Congratulations, now you can openly find someone else to have children with."

During the period when Harris used the excuse of being busy with work and indulged in the world of being promiscuous in sex relations, I was diagnosed with early-stage uterine cancer.

On the day I received the diagnosis report, feeling lost and helpless, I made countless phone calls to him.

At first, I managed to reach him a few times, but later he probably found me annoying and simply turned off his phone until the next noon when he impatiently replied with a short text message.

He informed me that he was on a business trip and we could talk when he got back home.

Not long after, someone with ill intentions sent me photos of him having fun at Disneyland with that young college girl.

Looking at the picture of him laughing heartily, I thought it was time to let go.

In the spacious living room, Harris turned his back to me, rubbing his temples with one hand and pacing in front of me.

It was a sign that he was getting angry.

Sure enough, not long after, he suddenly turned towards me, his handsome face contorted with anger, and he interrogated me.

"You didn't inform me about such a crucial matter until after the surgery, Sarah Jones, what do you take me for?"

I wanted to give him the exact same sentence back.

But I was tired.

At this point, no matter how much I said to him, it would be meaningless.

I simply told him, "Please lower your voice and don't wake momo."

"Sarah, don't change the subject. I'm asking you why you didn't notify me about the surgery."

Facing his burning gaze, I smiled lightly and said.

"Because you're not deserving."

As I watched him follow me upstairs and return to the room.

He clenched his teeth in anger.

Before long, the rumbling sound of a sports car could be heard outside the window.

Harris chose to give me another silent treatment.

Since our marriage, every silent treatment ended with me softening and begging him to come home to see the child.

Unfortunately, he didn't see the packed luggage in the bedroom every time.

This time, I was too exhausted to play the childish game of on-and-off with him.

In retrospect.

I met Harris in high school.

True to his name, he was the most difficult student to manage in the entire school.

He skipped classes and smoked, always surrounded by a group of shady friends.

I was the quiet one who focused on studying, the top student in the class with the least presence.

We spent three years in the same class without ever exchanging a single word.

Until one day, the class monitor reported him for stealing a classmate's phone.

When they looked in his bag, they found several expensive phones.

Everyone accused him, even the teachers were frustrated and ready to report him to the police.

But I stepped forward and told them that I had seen Harris repairing phones during class time, hunched over the desk.

These phones were not stolen.

Later, the police arrived.

They proved that I was right, that Harris had never stolen anything from anyone.

Despite that, the people in the class still looked at him with skeptical eyes, unwilling to believe.

Some even thought I was meddling in other people's business and marginalized me. From then on, I became a loner, just like Harris.

I can't remember how many times I was walking home alone when I got fed up and turned around.

I scolded the sloppy young man for being a creepy stalker.

I called him a pervert stalker.

And I said I detested scumbags like him the most.

"Get lost! Don't be an eyesore."

Harris stood still, and for the first time, I saw a trace of helplessness on his arrogant and handsome face.

He apologized to me.

He ran away for a short distance, but then suddenly turned around and came back, looking fierce and menacing.

I thought he was going to attack me, and I trembled in fear. But instead, he opened his palm towards me.

Inside, there was a strawberry-shaped hairpin.

"Last week. It dropped on the ground, it's yours."

Before I could say thank you, Harris quickly ran away with a black face.

The next day, the boy shaved off his bangs that covered his eyes and started wearing his school uniform properly.

From that day on, we started going to school together.

Later, he confessed his feelings to me.

And then, in order to let me finish my studies at the University of Political Science and Law smoothly, Harris tirelessly did the dirtiest and most exhausting physical labor on construction sites day after day.

One time, a brick fell from the sky and hit him on the head, causing a gash. But even then, he happily told me over the phone.

"What luck! I earned an extra 200 dollars for my wife today. I had the foreman transfer the money directly to your account. Once you receive it, treat yourself to a nice meal. Don't save money, got it?"

Back to reality.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

Inside our cozy apartment, momo's small hand gently touched my face.

I forced a smile and choked back my tears, saying, "Mommy is fine. Mommy just remembered some very happy memories."

But memories were just memories; they didn't hold any power.

This is the first house that Harris and I owned together.

The house title was in my name only.

Two days ago, after moving here with momo, I officially hired a divorce lawyer to handle the divorce proceedings for me.

Just as I was thinking that Harris should have received the divorce agreement by now, he happened to call.

Harris angrily questioned me, "Sarah, where did you take momo?"

"Don't worry, she is safe with me. If you want to see her, make an appointment with me one day in advance."

On the other end of the phone, he remained silent for several seconds. When he spoke again, I could tell that he was trying hard to control his temper.

"Honey, I've been really busy lately. Don't play games with me at this critical moment. Listen, you and momo should go home obediently. Only then can I focus on my work."

I was about to say something when I heard the voice of the young girl on Harris's side.

She was acting coquettishly, asking him when he would finish the call.

If she exceeded her reservation time for the Black Pearl Restaurant tonight, she would be very angry.

Upon hearing this, I hung up the phone directly.

No matter how many times Harris called back, I couldn't be bothered to answer.

A day later, Harris's parents suddenly invited me, Harris, and momo to their place for a family dinner.

We rarely had contact with each other, so it was highly likely that Harris had informed them about our impending divorce.

I thought, after all, they were still elders, so there was no harm in going.

I wanted to confront Harris face to face and come to a resolution.

Harris's parents lived in the extravagant villa Harris had bought for them.

They ignored our punctual arrival with me and momo, as if they didn't see us at all.

It wasn't until they saw Harris arrive late with another woman that they smiled and ordered the servants to serve the food.

It was at this moment that I noticed there was an extra person at this so-called family dinner.

"Can I call you Sarah? Do you like eating spiced salt-flavored spare steaks, Sarah? Let me serve you."

The girl in front of me, who was unusually enthusiastic, was the same young college girl who had gone to Disneyland with Harris.