Chapter 1 Three years into my marriage with Ethan, I started thinking about divorce. My best friend, Chloe, thought I was insane. "He's literally the perfect man. One in a million. Why on earth would you want to leave him?" Ethan was a perfect husband. I couldn't pick out a single flaw. I just smiled silently and asked her to play a game with me. "Send a text to your husband." "Tell him you're not coming home tonight." I typed the message in my chat with Ethan. [I'm not coming home tonight.] My finger hovered for a few seconds before I hit send. Once it went through, I waved my phone at Chloe. "Don't say anything else. Just that one sentence." "You don't know my hubby? He'll call immediately." Chloe confidently pulled out her phone and tapped away. "Sent. Now what?" Then— Her phone rang instantly. "See? Told you." Chloe gave me a playful glare and put it on speaker. "Why aren't you coming home, babe? Aren't you meeting Sarah? Does she not want to go home? You can bring her here, or... do you just want to stay at her place?" The voice on the other end rambled on, firing off question after question. "Just teasing you! How could I not come home? Sarah just wanted to play a game... But babe, it's raining outside, and it's hard to get a cab here. Can you come pick us up?" Chloe explained quickly, her voice turning sugary sweet. Her eyes were soft and affectionate, filled with a giddy happiness rare in married women. She was clearly nourished by love. "Okay, okay, I'm changing now. Wait for me, babe~" As if to prove a point. The voice on the phone was sickly sweet too. I listened with a smile for a while, then downed my drink in one go. Finally, my phone buzzed. A new message— [Okay, have fun.] From Ethan. Chapter 2 I declined the couple's offer for a ride and took a taxi home alone. The rain was getting heavier. I ran from the complex gate to my door, still getting soaked. Rarely, I saw Ethan as soon as I walked in. The ten-foot-long dining table was covered in legal documents like a battlefield map. He sat at the far left, facing his laptop, posture perfect. His shirt sleeves were neatly rolled up, revealing firm forearms. His usually indifferent gaze was mostly hidden behind thin, gold-rimmed glasses. The vintage-style chandelier cast a warm yellow light, softening his features. I stood in the entryway, dazed. The long table in front of me was custom-made before we got married. It was wide and long enough to spread out all my scriptwriting materials. Besides occasionally serving its intended purpose, it was mostly my desk. Ethan was a man of extreme order. In his mind, dining tables were for eating. Work belonged in the study. This was the first time I'd seen him use this table for anything other than meals. He had just been promoted to Senior Partner at his law firm. He must have taken on a tricky case, given the mountain of paperwork. Not wanting to disturb him, I wiped the rain from my face and quietly changed my shoes. But as I put them away, I accidentally kicked the shoe cabinet. Alerted by the noise, Ethan paused for a second, then immediately closed his laptop. He didn't ask why I was back. He didn't ask if it was raining. He didn't ask where I went or what I ate. As he quickly stacked the bound documents into neat piles, he said, "Sorry, I'll go to the study." His tone was polite and apologetic. Like a trespasser caught in someone else's territory, rushing to return it. I stared at his movements. The tiny bit of warmth that had inexplicably risen in my heart suddenly dissipated. "It's okay." I took a deep breath and stopped him. "I drank tonight, I don't want to work. You can stay here." Ethan knew I had a severe alcohol allergy. Unless absolutely necessary, I never touched a drop. He looked up, staring at my obviously wet hair for several seconds, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. But in the end, he asked nothing. He just put down the half-stacked files and nodded faintly. "Okay, get some rest early." Chapter 3 Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the rain. I couldn't even stand to finish my shower. I slid down the wall into a squat. The hot water poured down, turning cold by the time it hit my skin. I shivered uncontrollably but had no strength to stand. Ethan was a perfect husband. —In the eyes of outsiders. Good family, good job, good looks. His temper and character were flawless. A few years ago, my grad school advisor introduced him to me like he was handing over a treasure. "I guarantee you won't find another young man as outstanding as Ethan even with a lantern! He's one in a million!" My advisor was always strict and picky. Hearing him praise someone like that for the first time piqued my interest, so I let him set us up. Without exaggeration. The first time I saw Ethan, my heart skipped a beat. Even though he seemed exceptionally cold that day, it was truly love at first sight for me. Later, at Ethan's initiative, we met a few more times. I discovered our values aligned perfectly. Like we were destined to meet. In just six months, we went smoothly from meeting to dating to marriage. His mother adored me. The first time I visited, she held my hand and wouldn't let go. Laughing through tears, she kept saying, "Thank you for liking my Ethan. Good girl, thank you." My parents were 100% satisfied with Ethan. Friends and relatives who met him would tease me in unison. "You must have saved a country in your past life to find such a good man." Honestly, I used to think so too. I loved exercising and had plenty of energy. Before I moved in, the basement was redesigned into my personal gym at Ethan's request. All equipment was tailored to my height. Machines I hadn't used in a while would be quietly replaced. The smart speakers would play my favorite music when I stepped in. The movie list in the home theater updated instantly based on my preferences. I'm a writer, a night owl. Ethan had mild neurasthenia, but to accommodate me, he got used to sleeping with an eye mask and earplugs. Holidays and anniversaries always came with flowers and gifts. Whenever he traveled for business, he brought back souvenirs. Occasionally, when I was down, he'd bring home cake and say, "Eat something sweet, you'll feel better." Ethan was too perfect. He was meticulous and thoughtful; every kindness was tangible. Marrying me was a compromise for him. —When love hit me hardest, I always thought that. Knock knock. Two light taps on the bathroom door. I must have been in there too long. I struggled to stand up, calling out, "Almost done." Ethan's silhouette lingered outside the frosted glass for three seconds before walking away. He said nothing. Like he had never been there. The drunkenness washed away by the shower water came rushing back. I hastily toweled off, threw on a robe, and yanked the door open. The moment I stepped out, I froze. —Ethan was standing solemnly to the left of the door frame, watching me with calm eyes. Like he had something to say. Chapter 4 It was a... hard feeling to describe. A mix of anticipation and nervousness. In the short time our eyes met, I rehearsed countless openings in my mind. If he asked, "Are you in a bad mood?" If he said, "You're allergic to alcohol, you shouldn't drink." If he got angry and said, "Why are you so impulsive? You said you weren't coming back, then came back in the rain?" I think I would have burst into tears immediately. I would have used the alcohol as an excuse to throw a tantrum, just to try one last time for this marriage, to ask Ethan the question that had plagued me for so long. But after a few seconds of silence. Ethan spoke in a flat tone: "Grandpa called. He wants seafood." "I booked a restaurant. I'll pick you up after court tomorrow." His eyes and expression were normal. Like he waited here just to notify me. I pinched my palm. I felt like a balloon about to explode, suddenly deflated with a pfft. The "Grandpa" Ethan referred to was my grandfather, who had Alzheimer's. He was lucid sometimes, confused others, often forgetting everyone but clinging to Ethan. "...No need." My lips parted twice before I could speak, my throat tight and raspy. "Send me the location. I'll go myself." I rarely refused Ethan. Especially for small things like "personally driving me," which proved his care and our intimacy. So, Ethan looked slightly puzzled. But he asked nothing, just stared at me silently for a few seconds. Before turning away, he said calmly, "Okay." Noon the next day. After a topic selection meeting, I drove to the restaurant alone. A family gathering, both sides present. Grandpa was throwing a tantrum, clutching Ethan's shirt sleeve and refusing to let go. Ethan coaxed him softly while peeling shrimp with a calm expression, showing no impatience. The two mothers were taking turns, their expectant smiles identical. "We're both turning sixty next year. If you two don't have kids soon, we won't have the energy to help." "Yeah, you've been married three years. Time to hurry up." Ethan placed a bowl of peeled shrimp in front of Grandpa and put one in my bowl. Hearing this, he smiled faintly and responded, "We're trying." His tone was solemn, expression serious. He charmed the two mothers out of their grumbling, both laughing and saying "That's right." The atmosphere heated up. I looked down at the shiny white shrimp corpse in my bowl and felt a sudden wave of nausea. Unable to suppress it, I covered my mouth and rushed to the restroom.
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