Chapter 1
The evening breeze on April Fool's Day carried a light, teasing air.
He held up the divorce papers with a lazy grin, mischief dancing in his eyes, and claimed it was all just a silly prank for his friends.
I saw the casual indifference in his gaze, signed my name, and walked out without a backward glance.
What I'd once thought was his special, exclusive love for me turned out to be nothing but empty lines he tossed out carelessly, without a second thought.
On the day we picked up our divorce decree, he was still joking with his buddies, calling me soft and way too easy to fool.
It wasn't until I wiped every trace of myself from his life and became someone he could never reach again that he finally woke up.
That was when he realized—the only fool this April Fool's joke had been played on was himself.
He watched a line of suitors circle around me, and he watched me walk away without so much as a single glance in his direction.
That once cocky, carefree man ended up drowning in regret, tormented by his loss night after sleepless night.
Again and again, he tortured himself with the same question: could he ever take back that stupid joke... and the real feelings he'd thrown away so carelessly?
*****
The April Fool's evening wind cut sharp and cold, a stubborn bite of early spring lingering in the air.
Henry Stanton slid a set of papers across the table toward me, a sly, cocky grin stretching across his face.
"Rachel, sign it," he said.
A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes, like he was pulling some huge, idiotic prank.
I dropped my gaze.
There, emblazoned at the top in harsh, unmissable bold print, were two gut-wrenching words: Divorce Agreement.
His friends whooped and hollered at once, their laughter so loud it shook the walls of the private room.
"Dude, you've really gone too far with this prank!" one of them joked.
"Aw, come on, Rachel, don't take it to heart—it's just April Fool's!" another laughed.
"Yeah, we all know you're his whole world. He probably lost a bet and had no other choice," someone chimed in.
But every one of those so-called comforting words felt like a shard of ice, piercing straight into my already numb heart.
I knew Henry better than anyone.
He was cocky, vain, obsessed with his reputation, and lived for being the center of attention.
Moments like this were exactly what he lived for.
He treated me like some quiet little accessory, nothing more than a trophy to show off how much control he had over me.
He was dead certain I wouldn't dare sign.
He was convinced that, just like every other time, no matter how ridiculous he got, I'd just smile sweetly and bail him out.
"Come on, sign it. What's the hold-up?"
Henry said, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. His taps were sharp, his irritation plain as day.
"Joanna's watching. Don't make me look like a loser in front of everyone," he muttered under his breath.
His voice dropped, but the bossy, demanding edge remained.
I glanced over, following his gaze.
Joanna Carter lingered in the corner, holding up her phone, camera aimed right at us, a sweet, eager smile on her face—like she could barely wait for the show to start.
She was Henry's childhood friend, the one he always called his "ride or die," the one person for whom Henry would gladly break every promise he ever made to me.
In that instant, my heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
So this so-called "joke" was just to put a smile on her face.
Everything I'd once thought was his special, one-and-only love for me—at that moment, the mask shattered, revealing the cold, ugly truth beneath.
It was nothing but a thoughtless stunt, and I was just the punchline.
Three years of marriage, and to him, it wasn't even worth a stupid bet with his friends.
The room was still loud and chaotic.
All those fake words of comfort felt less like kindness and more like a public humiliation.
Everyone was busy protecting Henry's pride, but not a single person cared about my dignity.
I slowly lifted my head and stared straight into Henry's mocking eyes.
Not a flicker of nervousness crossed his gaze—only pure, unshakable confidence.
He thought he had me wrapped around his little finger.
Suddenly, I just felt exhausted.
For three years, I gave up my career, smoothed down all my edges, and tried so hard to be the perfect wife.
I thought if I loved him hard enough, he'd finally realize my worth.
But I was dead wrong.
If someone never really cared about you, even if you handed them your heart on a silver platter, they'd just look down on it.
I reached for the pen on the table.
The metal nib was ice-cold against my fingertips.
Henry's grin only grew wider. He leaned back in his chair, looking completely relaxed, like he already had it in the bag.
He waited for me to set the pen down, expecting me to do what I always did—smooth things over for him, sweet and gentle, just like before.
"Alright, that's enough," was the line he was certain I'd say.
But instead, I flipped the papers open quietly.
On the final line for my signature, I wrote my name slowly and clearly, every stroke firm and steady.
Rachel Evans.
I signed it in two clean strokes, not a single moment of hesitation.
The entire room went dead silent in an instant.
All the noise, all the laughter, died sharp and sudden.
Everyone stared at me like I'd just done something completely unforgivable.
Henry's smile froze solid on his face.
He sat up straight, his brows furrowed, and for the first time, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Shock? Maybe. Or... panic?
But honestly? I didn't care enough to even try to figure it out.
Once I'd signed my name, I pushed the papers right back to him.
"Have it your way," I said.
My voice was soft, but every word was clear and final.
Then I stood up, grabbed my coat and purse.
I didn't look back at Henry. Not even once.
I was afraid that if I did, the tough shell I'd finally put up would crumble at once.
I turned and walked straight toward the door.
Behind me, there was nothing but silence.
I could feel Henry's gaze burning into my back, hot and intense.
But I didn't look back.
Not even once.
I pushed the door open, and the evening wind hit my face—sharp, cold, stinging.
But that cold made everything crystal clear.
The man I once thought was my whole world, the one I believed would love me forever, had just ended us with the cheapest, most pathetic joke possible.
And now? I didn't have to lie to myself anymore.
Rachel, I told myself. From now on, you're free.