Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was the 26th year since Daniel and I had known each other, and the 8th year since we'd fallen in love. That year, he successfully developed a software that turned his company from a loss to a profit—and we finally walked down the aisle.

He kept his promise and threw me a grand wedding. He even took me to carefully pick out the wedding favors. Our old friends, who had known us for years, all said we'd finally gone through the hard times and gotten our happy ending.

But as Daniel's company grew stronger, he had less and less time for me. Our relationship faded from a steady stream into stagnant water.

Every day, I tried new recipes and cooked elaborate meals waiting for him to come home. But eventually, even his secretary stopped bothering to tell me why he wasn't coming back.

I often stared at the full table of food, lost in thought. I remembered the early days of his business—when he'd come home exhausted every night after rushing to secure investments and write code. Back then, I didn't know how to cook much; a simple bowl of egg noodles was all I could make. But he'd eat it with such delight, saying he felt so happy.

Later, Daniel stopped coming home for months at a time. The only way I could find out about him was online—most articles praised him for being successful at a young age, while some gossiped about his love life. There were even rumors questioning his sexuality, claiming he had no interest in women.

I was just his hidden wife—someone he kept at home, out of sight.

I tried my best not to read those rumors, not to think about them, and not to confront him. I knew I could never change his mind.

Ever since we were kids, Daniel had always been stubborn—his choices were always right and unshakable, never swayed by anything or anyone.

The only thing I got was a phone call from Daniel, telling me he wanted a divorce.

Even for divorce, he couldn't be bothered to talk to me in person.

It was a sunny day. I was fertilizing the new tulips I'd planted in the yard when my phone—quiet for so long—suddenly rang. I took off my gloves to check the caller ID: Daniel Song.

My right eyelid twitched violently, and a sense of foreboding settled in my chest.

Sure enough, when I answered, I heard him say: "Eva White, let's get a divorce."

The heart I'd been holding onto for so long plummeted, as if it had dropped onto my foot—aching terribly.

"My answer is no," I said, my voice trembling.

I hung up the phone and collapsed onto the ground, my ears ringing and my vision blurring.

I knew why Daniel was in such a hurry to divorce me—he'd reconnected with his "first love"—his college classmate, Maggie Jiang.

Maggie was famous in the computer science department for her beauty and intelligence. Her skills were better than most of the boys in the major.

She'd won countless competition trophies and scholarships, and the line of boys wanting to date her could stretch from the east gate of R University to the south gate and back again.

But Maggie hadn't liked any of them—only Daniel.

She'd confessed her feelings to Daniel right in front of me, not caring at all that I was his girlfriend.

"Daniel Song, I like you," she'd said.

"I have a girlfriend," he replied.

"I know that," she'd said casually. "It's like waiting in line, isn't it? You're not married yet—and even if you were, people get divorced. Can't I get in line first?"

...

Maggie didn't pester him. She acted so straightforward, as if I'd be the one being petty if I said one more word.

When she graduated, she got an offer for a combined master's and doctoral program at a top university in the US. She called Daniel to ask if he could see her off. When he said no, she didn't push.

Last year, I'd seen a message in Daniel's college class group mentioning Maggie. Someone said she'd gotten a US green card and planned to settle there.

But then, out of nowhere, she came back. And just as she'd predicted—Daniel really was divorcing me, all for her.

Before Daniel told me he wanted a divorce, I'd already been waiting for that moment—as if waiting for a judge to read my final verdict.

Because news that Maggie had given up a million-dollar salary and her US green card to return to China had already caused a stir in those college groups.

I couldn't help but check her social media page. Her latest post was a selfie with the caption "Cheers," dated the 8th of last month—the day after she came back.

She looked even more beautiful than before, no longer the naive girl she'd been. She exuded charm, sitting in the passenger seat and grinning at the camera, making a "V" sign with her hand.

And the faint glimpse of a hand gripping the steering wheel in the background sent my heart plummeting. I knew exactly who that hand belonged to—Daniel Song.

Cahpter 4

Every day, Daniel sent me a new divorce agreement. Maybe he thought I was refusing to divorce because the money wasn't enough, so the amount he offered me kept increasing—so much that I could live comfortably for the rest of my life, and the next.

But I just tore each agreement up and threw it in the trash, pretending I'd never received it.

On the day I got the 78th divorce agreement, I took Daniel's number off my blacklist, called him, and said: "Daniel Song, let's get a divorce."

The reason I suddenly agreed was that I really needed that money.

My mother had fallen seriously ill. My father had been hiding it from me, afraid I'd worry. But the day before, he'd had a sudden cerebral hemorrhage and collapsed. A neighbor found him and took him to the hospital. The neighbor had found my number in his address book and called to tell me everything.

I rushed back that night. The doctor told me my mother had suffered a cerebral infarction. Given her age, they could only treat her conservatively—anything more would be too hard on her body. If we could take her to a big city for better treatment, she might suffer less and live longer.

I looked at my unconscious parents in the hospital room, tears streaming down my face as I bit my lip. I realized that all these years, I'd been so focused on Daniel that I'd neglected my parents. Every time we talked on the phone, it was short, and my father always rushed to say: "We're fine, really! Don't worry about us!"

So I agreed to the divorce. I didn't even have time to think about Daniel's reaction on the other end of the line before I saw doctors and nurses rushing past me, pushing my mother into the emergency room.

The property inventory took over half a year. By then, all the money Daniel had given me over the years was gone—I'd even maxed out two credit cards. That's when he called to say we could sign the divorce papers the following week.

But before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, two days of constant nausea made me panic. I clung to the sink, and suddenly remembered that drunken night—

Daniel had gotten drunk and, for some reason, come home.

He'd grabbed me—sitting on the balcony, also half-drunk—lifted me up, and threw me onto the sofa. He kissed me wildly. I resisted with all my strength, but there was no matching a man's strength. In the end, he'd had his way.

I'd cleaned up and left the house overnight before he sobered up. I never thought I'd end up pregnant.