Two years after the divorce, I ran into my ex-wife at City Hall. She wasn't alone. She was with her childhood sweetheart, and our daughter. They looked like the perfect, enviable family. My daughter spotted me and ran over excitedly, wrapping her arms around my legs. "Daddy! Lily missed you so much." I calmly extracted my leg from her grip and looked at Chloe. "Here to get your marriage license? Congrats. Wishing you a lifetime of happiness and another kid soon." She smiled unnaturally. "I'm here to file for divorce." Then, scanning the folder in my hand, she asked urgently, "Are you getting married?" I flicked the document in my hand. "Just getting an Affidavit of Single Status." 1. I never expected to see Chloe again, especially not at City Hall. I was walking out with my fresh paperwork when I bumped into her. She was walking with her head down. She looked shocked for a moment, then stared straight at me. "How have you been these past two years?" I didn't have a fetish for catching up with my ex-wife—especially not when the metaphorical horns on my head hadn't fully faded yet. "I'm fine," I said dismissively, trying to walk past her. She chased after me, grabbing my sleeve. "Are you getting married?" The woman was baffling. Why was she so pressed about my marital status? Seeing my impatience, Chloe let go of my cuff. She scrambled for a topic. "We haven't seen each other in two years." That was true. The last time we met was right here, two years ago. That day, we ended a three-year marriage. I traded full custody of our daughter and walked away with zero assets just to get that divorce decree. Back then, she had asked me at the entrance, "When are you coming back to pack your things?" I looked at the sky, then at her. "Right now." I only took the keys to my old family property and the only photo I had with my father. As I was leaving, Chloe, holding our daughter’s hand, stared at me. "Leave the house keys." I didn't stop opening the door. "They're on the table," I muttered. Behind me, her voice rose in frustration. "You're the one who insisted on divorcing! Wes has no family or friends, and he’s diagnosed with depression. What is wrong with me spending more time with him? Why do you have to be so petty?" "Even Lily knows he needs companionship and warmth." I turned back to see my daughter nodding vigorously, and Chloe looking at me with utter disappointment. Facing the accusing stares of both big and small, I rolled my wheelchair away as fast as I could. Wes had no family or friends? Well, neither did I. My only family had been her and our daughter. I looked at the photo of my father. At least I didn't have to compete with Wes anymore. My wife and daughter weren't mine anymore anyway. 2. Wes was Chloe’s childhood sweetheart. They grew up together. Wes’s father was the driver for Chloe’s family. When Chloe was seven, she accidentally started a car, and the driver sacrificed his life to save her. Since then, to repay the debt of life, Wes became like another child in the Zhao household, eating and living alongside Chloe. In adolescence, hormones hit. The handsome boy and the pretty heiress became an unspoken couple. They crossed the line. When it was discovered, Wes was sent abroad to study. They maintained a long-distance emotional affair for years. Then the pandemic hit. The economy crashed, and Chloe’s family business went into debt. That was when I found Chloe, drunk and nearly passed out on the roadside, saving her from being taken advantage of. I stayed by her side through the corporate winter, welcoming the economic recovery—and eventually, our daughter, Lily. On Lily’s second birthday, Wes suddenly reappeared. He gazed deeply at Chloe, talking about how much he missed her, the pain of getting COVID, and the hardships of returning to the States. That day was also our third wedding anniversary. Chloe cried in Wes’s arms until she shook. What followed was a cliché script. Everything I had became his. Chloe took Wes for a full body checkup. His post-COVID symptoms lingered, and he was diagnosed with severe depression. Conveniently, Chloe also "discovered" scars on his wrists. "Liam," she told me, "the doctor says patients with self-harm tendencies can't be left alone. He needs love and warmth." I asked, unwilling to give up, "So?" "He has no other family. I want to move him into our house so I can take care of him." "I don't have any other family either." Chloe’s face changed instantly. "How can you be so selfish? He’s sick. He needs company. You’re not sick." She practically implied that refusing to let her ex-lover move in made me a monster who had wronged the entire world. Seeing this, I didn't fight it. For months, I busied myself with company business while Chloe stayed home taking care of Wes and our daughter. I became the intruder in my own home. One day, while working at a site, a tire fell from a rack and crushed my lower leg. As I was loaded into the ambulance, I had only one thought: Good. Now I need to be taken care of, too. 3. My injury was sudden, but not fatal. Chloe didn't give me much of her time. By the time I was discharged, she had only visited twice, never staying longer than thirty minutes. It was just a fracture, but bones take a hundred days to heal. I began my recovery under the same roof as Wes. The difference was, he lived upstairs next to the master bedroom, and I was in the guest room downstairs. Chloe said it was because of my leg—stairs were inconvenient. "Liam, you don't mind, do you? He’s close by so I can care for him easily. It saves you the trouble of climbing up and down." "I don't mind." Out of basic humanity, saving a life is a good deed. As long as she didn't "care" for him right into bed, I didn't care. Wes would come downstairs every day to see me, specifically when Chloe was around. One day, talking about his condition, Wes mentioned that the antidepressants were making him gain weight. He acted depressed about it, immediately hooking Chloe’s limited attention. She hurriedly grabbed Wes and took Lily out for exercise. They looked exactly like a happy family of three. At dinner, I stared at the table full of takeout Chloe had ordered. I couldn't eat any of it. It was all Wes’s favorite—Sichuan food. Heavy spice. Exactly what I wasn't supposed to eat with my medication and inflammation. Chloe ate happily. "Liam, why aren't you eating? This place Wes picked is delicious." "The doctor said I can't eat spicy or stimulating foods." Chloe paused for a second. "I just wanted Wes to eat more so he’d get better faster. You only have a fracture. A little bit shouldn't hurt, right?" I gripped my chopsticks, looking at Wes’s provocative smirk. "Right. It doesn't matter." 4. Out of masculine pride, I ate that table of spicy food. Even though I drank gallons of water afterward, the wound became inflamed, triggering a high fever. This time, Chloe came to the hospital. But before my fever even broke, Wes followed us there. His "depression" flared up. He slashed his wrist. When Chloe rushed to Wes’s VIP room, she forgot to take Lily. In my feverish haze, I heard the little girl’s milky voice making a wish. At first, I felt comforted—regardless of the wife, the daughter was mine. "I wish Daddy would die from the fever. Then Uncle Wes can be my Daddy." Someone asked her why she wanted to switch dads. "Uncle Wes is clean, handsome, and smells good." The daughter I had cherished in the palm of my hand since birth thought I was dirty and smelly, and wanted to call someone else father. Chloe took Lily to the VIP suite to keep Wes company. I stayed in the regular ward with a hired nurse. From the doctors to the other patients' families, everyone thought they were the family of three. Wes sent me a photo with a caption: "You're just a smelly mechanic. What do you have to compete with me?" In the photo, Chloe was wearing pajamas, sleeping soundly in Wes’s arms. On Wes’s other side was Lily, fast asleep. I stared at that photo all night. I confirmed it repeatedly—that was the bed I had run all over the city to buy for our wedding. When the sun came up, I finally woke up. Before I could bring up divorce, Chloe stormed in. Wes’s mother had somehow gotten the news and went to his ward to demand money. Wes was "triggered," and his condition worsened. Chloe came to interrogate me. I picked up the evidence she threw in my face in front of the whole ward—printed WeChat transfer records. Money I had sent to Wes’s mother. "You knew Wes needs peace and quiet! Why did you bring that woman here? Now he wants to kill himself. Are you happy?" Chloe was emotional, slapping my cast-covered leg as she screamed. "I just took care of him for a bit! I wasn't going to divorce you! Why can't you just understand me?" I knew talking was useless. She wouldn't believe me anyway. I pulled out the divorce agreement I had already printed. "Let's divorce. Now you can take care of him forever."
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