Chapter 1

"Fine, let's get divorced," I said.

David Carter froze. He had prepared a whole list of complaints, like "You only make a thousand dollars a month," "My coworker's wife earns a hundred thousand a year," and "We're not a good match."

But with one sentence, I left him speechless before he could start.

"What did you say?" David stammered.

I pulled the divorce papers out of my bag and spread them out on the table. "I've signed them. I don't want any of the assets. The house, the car, and the savings are all yours. Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

David stared at me for a long time, his eyes full of complicated emotions. He probably never expected that the woman he'd been dismissing for five years would be so straightforward about ending things.

I stood up and grabbed my bag. "The courthouse opens at nine. I'll be waiting for you."

As I walked out of the café, I reached into my pocket and touched the lottery ticket. It was practically on fire.

*****

I've known David for eight years, and we've been married for five.

Eight years ago, when he was trying to win me over, he told me, "I don't care how much you make. I care about you."

Five years ago, when he proposed, he said, "You focus on being beautiful. I'll take care of everything and provide for us."

Three years ago, when he started working overtime, he said, "I'm working so hard for us."

One year ago, when he started criticizing me, he said, "Look at yourself. I'm too embarrassed to introduce you to my colleagues."

And yesterday, he said, "Emily, let's get divorced."

We met at a café he chose. He said it wasn't a good idea to talk at home. He was afraid I'd cause a scene or start crying. His mom, Miller Carter, had poor health and couldn't stand arguments.

Whatever, his mom never saw me as family anyway.

"Why?" I asked him.

He didn't hold back. "You only make a thousand dollars a month, and I make seven thousand dollars. We're not in the same league."

I looked at his face, and suddenly, he felt like a stranger to me.

That face used to smile at me and say, "Don't stress about money." That face used to lean in and kiss me, saying, "Let me take care of you."

But now, that face had this I don't know how to describe it. It was like he was pitying me, looking down on me.

It felt like asking for a divorce was him doing me a huge favor. It was like I should be thankful he didn't kick me out of the house.

"So, you think I'm holding you back?" I asked.

"It's not that you're holding me back," David hesitated. "I don't think we're right for each other. I want someone..."

"Richer? Is that it?" I cut in.

He stayed silent, but his expression said everything.

I smiled. "Fine, let's get divorced."

I would never forget the look on his face right then. He looked shocked, surprised, and a little disappointed.

He probably expected me to cry, throw a fit, or demand if he had another woman. So he could blame it all on me. "See, it's your attitude, that's why I can't stand you."

Too bad for him, I didn't give him that satisfaction. I pulled the divorce papers out of my bag. They were already printed, signed, and dated yesterday.

"Wait," David was stunned. "How did you..."

"How did I have them ready?" I cut him off. "Because I've known you wanted out for a long time."

His expression shifted. "You?"

I said calmly, looking right at him. "You changed your phone wallpaper to a screenshot of your team chat, and your screen password from my birthday to 123456. You started working overtime five days a week instead of two, but your paycheck never changed.

"David, do you take me for a fool?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"What's her name? The one who makes a hundred thousand dollars a year?" I asked.

David's face fell.

I stood up and picked up my bag. "Don't bother. I don't want to know. Take a look at the divorce papers. I'm not taking anything. The house, the car, and the savings are all yours. Is there anything else?"

He finally found his voice. "You don't want anything?"

"Don't want a thing," I replied.

"The house?"

"Not interested."

"What about a hundred thousand dollars in savings?"

"Keep it yourself."

He stared at me for a dozen seconds, his eyes full of a complicated look I couldn't quite figure out. Finally, he said, "Emily, you don't have to be so petty about this."

"David," I cut him off, "I'm not acting out of spite. I'm serious."

I looked him straight in the eye. "I don't want your money, your house, or anything else from you. There's only one thing I want."

"What?"

"A divorce decree."

He stayed silent for a long time. Finally, he nodded, "Alright."

I turned and walked out of the café. The sun was shining bright outside. I touched the lottery ticket in my pocket, and couldn't help but smile.

Yesterday afternoon, I used the only five dollars I'd managed to save in five years to buy a lottery ticket. This morning, I checked the winning numbers and saw I'd hit the jackpot, five million dollars after taxes.

David, you always thought I was beneath you because I only made a thousand dollars a month. You would never know that the woman you were divorcing was carrying five million dollars.

And you would never have known, if we were still married, you could've taken half of that five million. But now, you wouldn't get a red cent.