Chapter 1
Eight years into our marriage, my husband, Vincent Park, hired a tutor for our son, Henry Park.
On her first day, the tutor, Queenie Cole, threw away my records and took down our wedding photo to improve the study environment.
She even had the washing machine removed and dismissed our housekeeper, forcing me to do all the housework.
She said, "These have to go if we want a proper study environment. I'm only doing this for Henry's own good."
For Henry's sake, I put up with it.
That was until I overheard Queenie talking to Vincent, saying she wanted to get rid of me.
She said, "She's a high school dropout delinquent. How can she be Henry's mother?"
Vincent did not argue. He only said coldly, "I promised her I would never initiate a divorce in this lifetime."
In that moment, all my feelings for Ethan vanished.
*****
When I got home, Vincent was in the kitchen, making a cake.
He rarely set foot in the kitchen.
His smooth hands seemed out of place in the kitchen.
When our eyes met, Vincent's smile froze. "Queenie's turning twenty-three today. She's all by herself in this city, making it on her own. I wanted to surprise her. Don't get the wrong idea. Nothing is going on..."
I cleared my throat, cutting Vincent off.
Vincent always hated birthdays. He thought they were for show, boring, and a total waste of his time.
I knew his habits inside out. I asked, "Are you free tomorrow? Let's get a divorce."
Vincent froze, his hand stopping mid-squeeze with the cream.
I got it. For the past five years, I'd always brought up divorce in a joking way, so he'd reassure me.
But this time, I was strangely calm.
Vincent took a long moment to process it.
Then, he took off his apron, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Vivian, after you divorce me, no guy's ever going to want you.
"You'll have to deal with all kinds of gossip. People might straight-up call you 'used goods' right to your face.
"All that trash talk could crush someone. Are you sure you can handle it?"
That was how Vincent was. He loved to analyze everything, always searching for the perfect answer.
In Vincent's mind, being with him was the best option I could ever have in life.
After all, he could give me enough money to last a lifetime, and even people who couldn't stand me would have to call me "Mrs. Park" and show respect.
Once we were divorced, everything I had now would disappear.
But Vincent seemed to forget. I already survived all that soul-crushing gossip when I was eighteen.
My best answer was to divorce Vincent.
*****
At nine in the morning, I showed up at the courthouse right on time.
But Vincent was nowhere to be seen.
After half an hour, it suddenly started pouring rain.
Vincent finally called me back. "Queenie lives in a basement apartment, and it floods all the time.
"I won't make it today. We'll deal with it some other time."
From the sound of it, he was flooring the gas pedal.
I knew Vincent didn't care about me, but seriously, he couldn't even bother to show up for our divorce.
"Tomorrow, then," I said calmly.
The air suddenly went quiet.
Vincent paused for a long time. When he finally spoke, he sounded annoyed. "Vivian, are you really in such a hurry to get divorced?
"We've been married eight years, and you still don't trust me at all.
"I've told you over and over, there's nothing inappropriate between Queenie and me.
"It's you. You're always slinging mud at us. Have you ever thought about Henry? Do you want him to grow up without a mother?"
Every time we argued, Vincent would use Henry as his excuse.
He acted like he was certain I'd back down for Henry.
I looked at the branches right in front of me, bent low by the wind.
Living a life controlled by others as so draining.
Vincent was still going on, but I cut him off. "Then let Queenie be his mom.
"He always wanted an educated mom anyway."
After saying that, I hung up and, without a second thought, wiped every photo of Henry from my phone.
I scrolled through them one by one.
When Henry was little, he used to stick to me like glue, snuggling up on my shoulder and calling me "Mommy" in that sweet little voice.
But later, he kept avoiding my camera. "Your photos are awful. No sense of composition at all. Such a waste of phone space."
I thought he was growing up and had his own ideas now. That was until I saw a photo of the two of them on Queenie's social media.
He still liked to rest his head on someone's shoulder.
And his smile was the kind I hadn't seen from him in forever.
For a second, my mind went blank.
After eight years of marriage, I'd lost more than Vincent's love.
Looking at those photos, I saw fewer and fewer smiles. My finger moved faster, deleting them one after another.
If I were going to let go, I'd do it for real.