Derek pushed the divorce agreement in front of me. I glanced at it. The house goes to him, the car goes to him, savings split fifty-fifty. “Fifty-fifty?” I laughed. “There’s only thirty thousand in the account. You want to take fifteen thousand?” “This is just a fake divorce.” He frowned. “I need to guarantee a loan for a friend’s startup. I can’t have any debts under my name.” I stared into his eyes. He looked away. “Fine.” I picked up the pen. He visibly relaxed. He had no idea — I’d been waiting three years for this day. On the day we signed, Derek took half a day off work. Outside the courthouse, he even put on a show. “Sarah, I’m sorry to put you through this.” He held my hand. “Three months at most. Once I sort out the situation, we’ll remarry.” I nodded. “I’ve got it all arranged. You’ll move in with my mom for now.” “No need.” I pulled my hand back. “I’ll stay at my parents’ place.” He paused. “Your parents’ place? That’s so inconvenient…” “We’re divorced now. How can I still live with you?” He opened his mouth but said nothing. When we were processing the paperwork, the clerk asked if we’d thought this through. Derek rushed to answer: “We’ve thought it through.” I echoed: “We’ve thought it through.” He relaxed again. Outside the courthouse, he offered to drive me to my parents’ house. “No need.” I hailed a cab. “You go handle your business.” After the car had gone about fifty meters, I saw him through the rearview mirror, standing in place on his phone. His expression was relaxed, even smiling. I looked away and sent a text to my best friend, Madison. “It’s done.” She replied instantly: “What’s next?” “Wait.” I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. Five years ago when I married Derek, I thought I was marrying for love. He was three years older than me, working as a sales manager at a private company, making just over twenty thousand a month. I was an elementary school teacher making eight thousand, later raised to twelve thousand. When we got married, we bought an apartment on the east side of town. The down payment was eighty thousand. I paid fifty thousand — five years of savings plus twenty thousand from my parents. He paid thirty thousand. The monthly mortgage was eight thousand. I covered five thousand, he paid three. After marriage, I thought we were building our future together. He thought I was an ATM. The turning point came three years ago. That day I came home early and heard him on the balcony on the phone. “…Don’t worry, just wait a bit longer. When the time’s right, I’ll dump her…” I stood in the living room, frozen. He hung up and turned around. When he saw me, his expression changed for a split second before quickly returning to normal. “Who were you talking to?” I asked. “A client. A difficult client.” He walked over with a smile. “Why are you home so early?” I looked into his eyes and said nothing. From that day on, I started paying attention. I opened a bank account he didn’t know about and deposited two thousand every month. I quietly verified the details on our property deed. I checked his credit report and looked into his assets. The more I investigated, the colder my heart became. In five years of marriage, he’d registered a company under his name with fifty thousand in capital. I didn’t know a single thing about it. And our “joint savings” account always maintained a balance hovering around thirty thousand. Where did the money go? I didn’t ask. If I asked, he’d have a hundred excuses. I just waited. Waited for him to slip up on his own. Now, he’d finally made his move. A fake divorce. His reason: guaranteeing a friend’s loan. Laughable. That “friend” he wanted to help — I’d already investigated her. It was a woman.
When I got back to my parents’ house, my mom Elena looked worried. “Really just one month?” “Mom, I know what I’m doing.” “What about the house?” “Temporarily his.” My mom panicked: “Are you crazy? You paid the down payment on that house, and you’ve been paying most of the mortgage every month!” “Mom.” I held her hand. “It’s a fake divorce, not a real one. After we remarry in a month, the house will still belong to both of us.” This was Derek’s line. My mom was skeptical: “Well… you better keep a close eye on things.” “Don’t worry.” My dad Thomas sat nearby smoking, silent. Only after my mom went to the kitchen to cook did he speak. “Sweetie, are you hiding something from us?” I looked at him. “You’ve always been like this. The bigger the issue, the less you say.” He tapped ash from his cigarette. “But whatever decision you make, I support you.” My eyes felt hot. “Dad, I might need to stay here for a while.” “Stay as long as you want.” That night, Derek sent me a text. “Did you get home okay?” “Yes.” “Good. Rest well. Once things are sorted here, I’ll come get you.” “Okay.” The phone screen went dark. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The next day, I took my annual leave. Madison asked me: “What’s your plan for investigating?” “Start with that woman.” “You know who she is?” “I do.” I handed her my phone. “I found out a year ago.” On the screen was a photo. A young woman, around twenty-six or twenty-seven, with long hair and delicate features. The photo was taken at a café. Derek sat across from her. They were smiling. “This is…” Madison’s eyes widened. “Vanessa Clarke, the accountant at his company.” I said. “That company Derek owns — on paper it’s his, but she has a share too.” “How do you know?” “Public business registration records. Two shareholders: Derek owns sixty percent, Vanessa Clarke owns forty.” Madison gasped. “There’s more.” I pulled up another image. “This is another property under Derek’s name, on the west side of town. Eighty-three square meters.” “What? He has another apartment?” “Yes. Bought two years ago. Down payment of forty thousand, mortgage of one hundred twenty thousand. The delivery address on the purchase contract is Vanessa Clarke’s address.” Madison looked at me: “How long have you been investigating?” “On and off, three years.” She was silent for a moment: “Why didn’t you confront him earlier?” “Not enough evidence.” I put my phone away. “And I wanted to see how far he’d actually go.” “And now?” “Now,” I smiled slightly, “he’s delivered himself to my doorstep.” In the fake divorce agreement, the house goes to him, the car goes to him. This house is worth three hundred fifty thousand. This car is worth twenty-three thousand. And the “joint savings” only listed thirty thousand. He thought I didn’t know his company made over eighty thousand in profit last year. He thought I didn’t know about his apartment on the west side. He thought I was an idiot. He wanted to use a fake divorce to leave me with nothing. Then openly be with that woman. Too bad he miscalculated.
Three days after the divorce, Derek called. “Sarah, there’s a complication with the guarantee. Might need to wait a few more days.” My tone was calm: “How long?” “About… two or three weeks.” “Okay.” “Don’t worry. When it’s done, I’ll personally come get you and bring you home.” “Alright.” After hanging up, I stared at the call log. He’d stopped calling me “honey.” The change came quickly. Madison asked me out to dinner and wanted to know my next move. “I’m going to meet someone.” “Who?” “Derek’s mom.” “Why would you meet her?” “To test the waters.” The next day, I brought fruit to my ex-mother-in-law Helen’s house. When she saw me, her expression showed a moment of awkwardness, but quickly returned to normal. “Sarah, come in and sit.” “Helen, I came to check on you.” She took the fruit: “You’re so thoughtful, even after the divorce.” I laughed coldly inside but kept my face neutral. “Helen, what’s Derek been busy with lately? He mentioned guaranteeing a loan for a friend. Who’s this friend?” Her hand paused. “I’m not really sure. I don’t get too involved in Derek’s business.” “Really?” I smiled. “Is this friend’s last name Clarke?” Her expression froze. “Vanessa Clarke, right?” I looked at her. “Helen, have you met her?” The living room fell silent for a few seconds. She set down the fruit, her face changing: “Sarah, what are you implying?” “Nothing.” I stood up. “Just asking.” “You…” She pointed at me. “You’re divorced and you’re still here causing trouble?” “Helen, I’m not causing trouble.” I picked up my bag. “Your son started this with me. Fake divorce, ha.” “That was for your own good! Once the guarantee thing is done…” “Helen,” I interrupted her, “how old is the child Vanessa Clarke gave him?” Her face went white as a sheet. I walked to the door and looked back at her. “Tell Derek I have something for him.” Outside the complex, I called Madison. “Confirmed. There’s a child.” “How can you be sure?” “Her reaction.” I took a deep breath. “Also, that phone call three years ago when Derek said ‘when the time’s right I’ll dump her’ — I finally understand what he meant.” Madison fell silent on the other end. “Their child should be over two years old now.” I said. “The timing matches perfectly. Three years ago was right when that child was conceived.” “Sarah…” “I’m fine.” My voice was calm. “I was mentally prepared for this.” But after hanging up, I squatted by the roadside and cried for a long time. Not because I was heartbroken. But because the breath I’d been holding for three years finally had an outlet.
Derek quickly learned I’d visited his mother. He called, his tone clearly off. “Sarah, what were you doing at my mom’s?” “Checking on her.” “Why were you asking her about Vanessa Clarke?” “I didn’t say much. Just asked who this friend you need to guarantee for is.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Sarah, what exactly are you trying to do?” “Me?” I laughed. “I’m not trying to do anything. But what about you, Derek? What are you trying to do?” He hung up. That evening, he showed up downstairs at my parents’ building. “Sarah, we need to talk.” I went downstairs and stood in front of him. “Talk about what?” “Did you find something out?” His eyes were evasive. “What do you think?” He licked his lips: “Vanessa… she’s just my business partner. Don’t misunderstand.” “Business partner.” I nodded. “And that apartment on the west side is also part of your business venture?” His expression changed. “Also, your company made over eighty thousand in profit last year. Your share is sixty thousand. Where’s that money?” He took a step back: “How… how do you know this?” “Derek,” I looked at him, “did you think I was an idiot?” He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. “The fake divorce agreement — house goes to you, car goes to you, thirty thousand in savings split in half.” I enunciated each word. “You planned to leave me with nothing, then openly be with Vanessa Clarke, didn’t you?” His expression finally cracked. “Sarah, let me explain…” “I don’t want to hear it.” I turned toward the building. “Wait!” He rushed after me. “The divorce agreement is already signed. It’s too late to back out!” I stopped. Turned to look at him. “Who said I’m backing out?” He froze. “Derek, I signed that divorce agreement. I don’t regret it.” I said. “I just wanted to tell you — I have more on you than you think.” “What… what do you mean?” “Nothing much.” I smiled slightly. “Just think carefully about what you’ve done to me these past five years. Then wait for my lawyer’s letter.” I went into the building without looking back. Behind me came his voice: “Sarah! Sarah, stop right there!” I ignored him. The moment I closed the building door, I heard him violently kicking it from outside. “Sarah! Don’t push me!” I frantically pressed the elevator button.
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