Three years of marriage, and my husband spent every single night texting his "girl bestie" until the early hours of the morning. The screen of his phone would light up until 2:00 AM, the notification sounds buzzing non-stop like a rapid heartbeat. When I asked him who it was, he just said, "You're overthinking. I don't even see her as a woman." She came to our house often. The moment she walked through the door, she would drape her arm over his shoulder, tilt her head, and smile at me. "Chloe, you don't mind, right?" Yesterday, I came back early from a business trip. When I pushed open the bedroom door, I saw them lying in our bed, wrapped in each other's arms, the blanket pulled up to their chests. She curled the corner of her mouth into a smirk. "Don't get the wrong idea. We just talked too late." He forced himself to look calm. "You're making a big deal out of nothing." I didn't say a word. I picked up the glass of water from the nightstand and splashed it directly onto their faces. "Awake now? Then both of you can get the hell out."
Water dripped down their faces, soaking into the white sheets and spreading into a dark, damp stain. Brooke Davis bolted upright. Her wet hair clung to her face. She wiped her eyes, glaring at me. "Chloe, you—" "Who gave you permission to act so familiar with me?" I slammed the glass back onto the nightstand. The sharp clinking sound of glass hitting wood echoed in the quiet room. Brooke turned her tearful eyes to Ethan Miller. She bit her lower lip, holding back tears until they finally spilled over, dropping onto the sheets one by one. I had to admit, she looked pretty when she cried. I used to think she was pitiful. Now, she just made me sick. Ethan sat up too. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and a few damp strands of hair fell across his forehead. He wasn't as messy as Brooke, but his face was incredibly dark, his jaw clenched tight like a rock. "Chloe Hale, have you lost your mind?!" "I've lost my mind?" I looked down at them. "I came back early from a business trip, opened my own bedroom door, and found my husband in bed with another woman. How should I react? Should I smile, say sorry for interrupting, and close the door?" Brooke’s voice drifted over, soft, trembling, and choked with tears. "Chloe, we really didn't do anything. We were just talking late last night, and I..." "And you what?" I snapped, turning to her. She flinched and shrank back toward Ethan. "Talking until 2:00 AM wasn't enough for you? You had to bring the conversation into my bed?" "I didn't mean to..." "Then how did you end up here? Did you walk in yourself? Or were you sleepwalking?" Brooke bit her lip, her tears falling even faster. Seeing her cry, Ethan’s frown deepened so much it could have crushed a coin. He reached out, patted her shoulder comfortingly, and then glared at me with pure accusation in his eyes. "That's enough! Brooke had too much to drink last night. I didn't feel safe letting her drive back alone, so I told her to sleep in the guest room. She just walked into the wrong room. You're overreacting." Our apartment has three bedrooms. The master bedroom is at the very end of the hallway, and the guest room is at the opposite end. Between them are the study and the bathroom. She walked into the wrong room? I stared at him, suddenly feeling like I was looking at a complete stranger. After three years of marriage, I thought I knew him. I knew he was busy with work, I knew he hated nagging, and I knew he had a girl best friend he grew up with. But I didn't know he could lie through his teeth with such confidence. "Ethan, are you seriously telling me she just walked into the wrong room?" His eyes flickered with a brief moment of guilt, but he quickly recovered. "What else could it be? What are you implying?" "I don't know. You tell me." Brooke sobbed, chiming in, "Ethan, forget it. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have come. I'll just leave..." She pulled back the blanket to get out of bed. The moment she did, I noticed she was wearing a men's oversized t-shirt. I recognized that shirt. It was the birthday gift I bought for Ethan last month. Now, it was on Brooke, the collar loose and sliding off her shoulder, revealing her bare collarbone. My gaze locked onto the shirt. My hands clenched into tight fists. Ethan followed my gaze, and his expression finally turned uneasy. "About that... her clothes got dirty yesterday, so I let her borrow one of mine." "Oh," I nodded slowly. "Her clothes got dirty, so you lent her my birthday gift to you?" "You bought it for me, so it's mine. Who I lend it to is my business!" He said this so righteously, tilting his chin up as if he truly believed he had done nothing wrong. I stared at him for three seconds. And then, I laughed. "Fine. Your business." I turned, walked into the walk-in closet, and opened a drawer. I pulled out a jewelry box. Inside was a Cartier necklace. I had bought it last month, planning to give it to him for our upcoming anniversary. I wouldn't be needing it anymore.
I took the necklace, walked over to the window, and pushed it open. The wind from the fourteenth floor rushed in, making the curtains flutter wildly. "Chloe, what are you doing?" Ethan’s voice came from behind, laced with sudden tension. Without looking back, I opened my hand. The silver chain flashed in the sunlight like a falling star before disappearing into the bushes below. "Are you crazy?!" Ethan leaped out of bed, running barefoot to the window to look down. "That was Cartier! That cost over seven thousand dollars!" "I know." I brushed my hands together and turned to face him. "You gave my gift to someone else, and I threw away the necklace you'll never wear. Fair trade." Brooke sat on the bed, tears still wet on her face. "Chloe, do you really hate me that much?" "Why would I hate you?" I tilted my head and smiled at her. "You're just wearing my husband's clothes and sleeping in my husband's bed. No big deal, right?" She choked on her words, her face flushing red and then turning pale. Ethan stood by the window, the sunlight casting his long shadow across the floor. He looked at me with anger, irritation, and a hint of something else I couldn't quite read. "Chloe, is all this really necessary?" "Yes, it is." I grabbed the other pillow from the bed, walked to the door, and took one last look at them. "I'm giving you thirty minutes to get out of my apartment." "This is my apartment too!" his voice turned cold. "Actually, it's marital property. If you have an issue with that, you can talk to my lawyer." I walked out of the bedroom and shut the door behind me. When I married Ethan three years ago, my mom told me that marriage takes work. She said that when two people live together, there will always be friction and disagreements. She told me to communicate, compromise, and things would get better. I believed her. The first year, he told me Brooke was just a childhood friend and told me not to worry. The second year, he said Brooke had broken up with her boyfriend and was depressed, so he needed to spend more time supporting her. The third year, he claimed Brooke was going through some family issues and needed a place to stay for a few days, so he put her in our guest room. I kept stepping back, kept compromising, and kept telling myself that marriage requires trust and patience. I pulled out my phone and sent a Snapchat message to my assistant, Daisy. "Help me find a good divorce lawyer and draft the paperwork." Daisy replied instantly: "Wait, are you serious?" "Dead serious." "On it. Honestly, I've been waiting for you to say this." I put my phone in my pocket and walked out of the kitchen with a bottle of water. In the living room, Brooke had already changed into her clothes and was putting on her shoes at the entryway. Seeing me come out, she paused, then straightened up and smiled at me. That smile was completely different from the pitiful face she had shown in the bedroom. "Chloe, I'm really sorry about today. It was my fault. Please don't be mad at Ethan." Her voice was still soft, but her eyes held a smug, triumphant gleam. "I'm not mad. Now get out." She blinked, clearly caught off guard by my absolute calm. As the door clicked shut, I heard her light, cheerful footsteps heading down the hallway. She was actually humming a song. She was in such a good mood that she was singing. I sat down on the sofa with my water bottle and began planning my next steps.
Ethan walked out of the bedroom. He had changed into a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. His damp hair was messy from being towel-dried. He walked over and sat on the single armchair opposite me. We sat across from each other, separated by the coffee table. Neither of us spoke. On the table was an ashtray containing several cigarette butts from last night. Next to it were two wine glasses. One of them had lipstick on the rim. "Chloe," he finally spoke, his voice much calmer now. "I can explain about today." "No need." "You!" "I made myself clear in the bedroom," I interrupted. "Get out of my apartment." His brows knit together. "This is my home." "It's marital property. Talk to my lawyer if you disagree." "Are you actually serious about this?" "Do I look like I'm joking?" He stared at me for a long time, probably shocked that I was speaking to him this way. For three years, I had been the easygoing, understanding, and quiet wife. When he said Brooke was just a friend, I said okay. When he said Brooke needed to stay with us, I said fine. When he texted her late at night, the notifications buzzing until 2:00 AM, I simply rolled over and pretended not to hear. I had shrunk myself down to almost nothing just to avoid annoying him. But now, I was exhausted. I was done shrinking. "Have you been wanting a divorce for a long time?" he suddenly asked. I thought about it and nodded. "Pretty much." "Since when?" "About a year ago." His face finally cracked. "A year ago? You've wanted a divorce since last year?" "Yes." "Then why didn't you say anything?" "I did. Did you ever listen?" He opened his mouth but couldn't find any words. "A year ago, I told you Brooke was coming over too often. You told me I was making a big deal out of nothing." "Six months ago, I brought it up again. You called me petty and said she was like family to you, telling me to stop being so jealous." "Last month, I told you for the third time. You slammed the door, walked out, and stayed at Brooke's place the entire night." "Ethan, I told you three times. You never took me seriously, not even once." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his lips trembling before he managed to mutter, "I thought you were just venting." "Right. You thought I was just venting." I stood up and set my water bottle on the table. "Just like you 'thought' Brooke walked into the wrong room, 'thought' her wearing your shirt was an accident, and 'thought' her posting photos on Instagram with her arm around your shoulder was just 'sibling love'." "You 'think' a lot of things." "Now I'm giving you a chance to think about what's actually real." I turned to walk toward the study. His voice chased after me. "Where are you going?" "To work." "Right now?" "Yes, right now. Unlike you, I don't have a company that runs itself while I text my girl bestie until 2:00 AM." The next morning, I woke up at 7:00 AM. After washing up and changing, I walked out of the bedroom. Ethan was already sitting at the dining table. On the table was a box of fresh bagels, cream cheese, and two cups of hot coffee. Seeing me walk out, he pointed to the seat opposite him. "Let's eat breakfast." I glanced at him, said nothing, and sat down. The aroma of freshly toasted bagels filled the room. "Did you make this?" I asked. "I bought them. From that bakery down the street. Didn't you say you love their bagels?" I took a bite. It was indeed from my favorite local spot. "Thanks." His eyes lit up slightly, clearly surprised by my polite response. "Sure." We finished our breakfast in silence. I put down my napkin, wiped my hands, and stood up. He stopped me. "What do you want for dinner tonight? I can..." "No need. Eat by yourself." I grabbed my bag, slipped on my heels, and walked out the door.
After a long day of work, I returned home to find Ethan gone. The living room was empty, the blinds were drawn, and the space was dim. I turned on the lights, put on my slippers, and walked into the master bedroom. The sheets had been replaced with fresh ones. The ruined set from yesterday was gone. On the nightstand sat a glass of warm water with a sticky note pressed underneath. "Left you some warm water. I have a business dinner tonight, don't wait up." I stared at the note for a second, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the trash can. At 9:00 PM, my phone rang. It was Ethan. "Chloe, I might be home late tonight. The client wants to—" "Got it." I hung up. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again. It wasn't a call from Ethan, but a message from a mutual friend. "Chloe, did you and Ethan get into a fight? I just saw him having dinner with Brooke at a restaurant. They seemed really close." I tapped on the attached photo and zoomed in. Ethan was sitting in a cozy booth, and Brooke was sitting directly opposite him under the dim, romantic lighting. I smiled. So this was his "business dinner." A candlelit dinner with Brooke. I put my phone down and went back to editing my business proposal. At 1:00 AM, the front door unlocked. I heard Ethan's heavy footsteps stumbling down the hallway before stopping outside my study. He knocked gently. "Chloe, are you still awake?" "Yes." "I brought some takeout. Do you want some?" "No." Silence stretched outside the door for a few seconds. "Are you mad again?" I released my mouse, walked to the door, and pulled it open. He was leaning against the doorframe, smelling of alcohol, his face slightly flushed. "Ethan, who did you have dinner with tonight?" His expression froze for a fraction of a second. "A client." "Which client?" "You don't know them." "Was it Brooke?" His pupils contracted, but he quickly recovered his composure. "How did you know?" "Someone saw you." He remained silent for a few seconds, then let out a heavy sigh. "Fine, I had dinner with Brooke. But she insisted on buying me a meal to apologize to you. She was too scared to face you directly, so she wanted to talk to me first." "So she invited you, and you went. She asked you to take her home, and you did. She asked to sleep in your bed, and you let her?" "I told you that was an accident!" "Enough." I raised my hand, cutting him off. "Ethan, save your explanations. Who you eat with, drink with, or sleep with has absolutely nothing to do with me anymore." His face drained of color. "What do you mean it has nothing to do with you? You're my wife!" "Not for much longer." The hallway fell dead silent. Ethan stood before me, his expression morphing from confusion to shock, and finally to anger. "What is that supposed to mean?" "Exactly what it sounds like." "You want a divorce?"
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