Chapter 2

In our seven years of marriage, as long as she came home, there would always be a piping hot meal waiting for her.

Even if I had to work late or attend a business dinner, I would always order her favorite takeout before coming home.

This was the first time she walked into a cold, dark kitchen.

She expected me to scramble up and cook, but instead, I said flatly, "If you're hungry, make it yourself."

Scarlett frowned and handed me a shopping bag.

"I remembered you were feeling nauseous today. I bought you some heated stomach patches."

I turned my head and met her gaze. "I don't need them. Give them to someone who does."

She didn't know that ten minutes ago, Christian had posted a picture of a heated patch on his stomach in their Snapchat group.

The hand applying the patch belonged to Scarlett—her left hand, wearing her wedding ring, was fully visible.

The photo had already been deleted, but I knew these patches were just Christian's leftovers.

Just like her. Only when Christian didn't need her would she return to my side.

Scarlett opened one of the patches, stubbornly trying to press it onto my stomach.

I shoved her away with force. She stumbled, her waist hitting the edge of the coffee table. Her face contorted in pain.

"Ethan Crawford! What is wrong with you? Christian had a medical emergency! You just had a little stomachache from bad food. Can't you tell the difference? Do you have to act so childish?"

I looked directly into her angry eyes, completely calm. "Scarlett, I didn't have a stomachache. My stomach ruptured."

Scarlett froze.

After a long pause, she let out a mocking laugh. "Is this your new trick to get my sympathy?"

"Ethan, don't forget we get annual checkups. I've seen your health reports. Aren't you disgusted with yourself for lying about something so serious?"

I had once desperately wanted to build a happy home with Scarlett and provide her with a luxurious life.

That was why I worked myself to the bone, chugging glasses of hard liquor just to close deals.

And that was how I ended up with a ruptured stomach.

In return, all I got was Scarlett giving her happiness to Christian.

Perhaps this was the final warning sign of our dead-end marriage.

I sat up. "Believe whatever you want."

I swept the fallen stomach patches into the trash can, threw on my jacket, and headed for the door.

Scarlett demanded, "Are you throwing a tantrum and running away?"

I said quietly, "A friend just bought a new place. I'm staying there for a few days."

Scarlett chased after me, her brow furrowed tightly.

This was the first time she had ever tried to stop me from leaving.

In the past, she would only watch coldly, knowing that no matter whose fault it was, I would crawl back within two days, begging for her forgiveness.

But this time, I wasn't going to do that.

I stepped past her, got into the elevator, and pressed the door-close button.

Half an hour later, I arrived at my best friend Zach's apartment.

When I told him about my emergency stomach surgery, his jaw dropped. He immediately bought me a bunch of supplements and stayed up for hours talking to me.

During this time, I didn't send a single message to Scarlett. Eventually, she sent me a single punctuation mark: "?"

I ignored it. The next morning, another message popped up.

[The breakfast places near the office suck.]

Zach looked at me as I calmly ate my toast at his dining table. He gasped, "Holy crap, bro. You actually didn't run home to cook for her?"

I shrugged. "Yeah."

In the past, a single word from Scarlett would make me drop everything to prioritize her.

But now, I was truly exhausted.

Zach said sincerely, "Good. You're finally finding your self-respect."

I stared at the ceiling for a long moment before speaking. "Zach, you're a divorce lawyer. If I want a divorce, what's your advice?"

Zach practically jumped out of his seat, instantly listing a mountain of legal terms.

Seeing my blank stare, he waved his hand. "Okay, okay, don't worry about the details. Leave everything to me."

I stayed at his place peacefully. For days, I didn't reply to a single text from Scarlett.

Five days later, my mother-in-law, Helen, posted a photo in the family Snapchat group. She complained that her birthday was coming up, but barely anyone had come to visit her early.

The photo showed a cozy family dinner.

Sitting at the table was Scarlett—and right next to her, leaning in close, was Christian.