The Missing Eight Years

My husband and I divorced, and he hired the best lawyer to leave me with nothing.

Just an hour ago, under the persuasion and threats of his lawyer, I signed the divorce agreement that left me with nothing.

The lawyer finally pushed his glasses to their most satisfactory position, told me to wait, and went to report to my ex-husband. Ten minutes later, my ex-husband sent a text message: "Friday, 10 a.m., Civil Affairs Bureau."

...

Today is only Tuesday, and in the evening, Olive texted me that she had reserved a table to celebrate my newfound singleness.

It's worth celebrating.

But it should be celebrated by the man I've been clinging to for eight years, Cornell.

The lawyer had already left, and I found myself alone in the café, dazed for a long time until it started to darken outside.

I still couldn't figure it out. The young man I had met, who had been stumbling through eight years of a tumultuous relationship with me, had ended up this way - parting without joy.

I got up to leave, and the waiter hurried over. "Two cups of coffee, fourteen dollars," she said.

Maybe it was the heartless fourteen dollars, but I got utterly drunk at the singles' party.

Seeing my miserable state, Olive came over and asked, "I just don't get it. You were the one who insisted on the divorce, so why do you look like you're at death's door?"

Olive, the witness to my love with Cornell Shaw, and the one who had seen me cling to Cornell.

"Maybe I'm heartbroken about having to leave with nothing."

Olive pushed away the young man who was toasting her. She got so close to my face, looking at me in disbelief. With the colorful, dazzling lights of the bar shining on her face, it was particularly stunning.

In the end, a young man approached Olive for a drink, and she made up an excuse to have me go home and take a rest. She had her driver take me home, and it felt like... she had forgotten loyalty to her friend for the sake of romance.

Thankfully, before our marriage, my parents left me a house, which counted as pre-marital property; otherwise, I'd be out on the streets.

I drank too much, didn't wash up, and just lay on my bed lost in thought. Suddenly, I thought about the day I asked for a divorce from Cornell.

It was just that he had hastily gone to work and hadn't eaten the breakfast I had prepared for him - actually, he had never eaten any breakfast I made.

It was just that day, maybe the weather was just right, the sun was just right, and I felt that if we had been married for four years and he had never eaten my breakfast, there was no need for him to eat it in the future. After all, the clutter that had been sitting in one place for four years should be cleaned up.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I drove specifically to Cornell's company at noon. The receptionist said I had no appointment and couldn't see Mr. Shaw.

Perhaps it was because I didn't come to the office often; it seemed that no one recognized me. I just felt sorry for the chicken soup I had stewed that morning; after all, I had no appetite.

After I got home, Cornell's assistant called me. She had a sweet voice, and over the phone, she said Mr. Shaw wouldn't be able to come home tonight.

Oh.

In fact, except for the early days of Cornell's startup, when I was always with him, after his company grew, he rarely came home to be with me since we got married. Moreover, now there was this beautiful assistant by his side.

Indeed, it's when a man has money that he turns bad.

Then, as I was thinking, I called him and told him I wanted a divorce.

It was indeed somewhat hasty, but I rarely heard Cornell's voice, and even across the screen, it could still enchant me. He told me to think it over, and I said I had. He asked me why, and I said I didn't know. After a few minutes of silence, I heard his beautiful assistant inquiring about him with concern.