Chapter 1
On the evening Adam Shaw got that notification, I was in the kitchen cooking up his favorite soup.
My name was Chelsey Massey, thirty-two, and this was my tenth year of marriage.
My husband, Adam, was thirty-eight, the research director at the state Medical Research Institute.
He had passed the final review for the National Medical Science and Technology Progress Award and was also recognized as an academician of the state medical college.
We live in Emerald Residence, a 2,000-square-foot high-rise apartment in the city center. From the window, we can see the entire Serene River at night.
For the past ten years, my whole life has revolved around looking after Adam and our home.
At a high school reunion, someone asked me what I do for a living these days. I said I stay at home. They all nodded knowingly, "Oh, Adam provides for you. Must be nice."
I smiled and said, "Yeah, it's nice."
When Adam entered the room, his footsteps felt heavier than usual. It was not the tired kind of heaviness, but rather as if he were walking on air while being weighed down, almost floating.
He called my name. I set down the spoon, wiped my hands, and went out.
He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, back to me, still in his suit, gripping a leather envelope. He slapped it onto the coffee table with a sharp, crisp sound.
"Chelsey, I did it. I'm an academician now." Adam's voice was trembling with excitement.
I said, "I know. Mr. Hecox from the medical department called me this afternoon and told me to get ready to celebrate."
Adam turned around, and there was a glow in his eyes that I hadn't seen before.
I recognize that light. It was the light in someone's eyes when they finally stood where they believed they belonged and looked back at where they started.
"I want to talk to you about us," Adam said.
I could already guess what was coming.
It wasn't just that day. It started months ago. Adam began coming up with reasons to skip dinner at home, and he'd take calls out on the balcony with the door shut.
He'd give me that once-over, like he was sizing me up, and then let out those thoughtful sighs.
Those sighs always sounded like he was torn between making a decision and trying to justify it to himself.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice so calm it surprised even me.
Adam pulled a folder out of his briefcase and set it on the coffee table, sliding it toward me.
He said, "Divorce papers. I had a lawyer draft them. I'm being fair with the assets. The house is yours, and we'll split the savings fifty-fifty."
I glanced down at the papers.
He continued, "Chelsey, you're a good person, but we're not right for each other. You're a housewife, and you don't fit in with my circle anymore. When I take you out, you barely have anything to say.
"I'm the youngest academician in the state now. From here on out, I need someone who can truly stand shoulder to shoulder with me, not—"
He paused, then said, "Not someone like you."
The lights from the Serene River outside painted the glass with a beautiful shimmer.
I didn't cry.
I walked over to the coffee table, picked up the pen he'd left there, turned to the last page of the agreement, and signed it slowly and steadily.
"It's signed," I said, sliding the folder back to him. "Make sure your lawyer takes care of it tomorrow."
Adam stared at the folder, his expression a mix of surprise and something I couldn't quite read.
He probably thought I would cry, beg him, ask if there was someone else, or hold onto his legs on the ground to stop him from leaving.
Maybe he was picturing the family drama he saw as a child in the alley opposite his house, which supposedly left a deep scar in his heart.
He never expected me to sign it straight away.
I asked, "The soup's still on the stove. Are you having dinner?"
Adam was quiet for a few seconds, then asked, "Aren't you going to ask me why?"
"No," I said.
I turned and went back to the kitchen, switched off the stove, ladled the soup into two bowls, and brought them out, setting a bowl in front of each of us on the coffee table.
He stared at me, stunned.
"Adam," I said as I sat down and picked up my spoon, "You want a divorce? Fine, I'll let you go. But make sure you remember.
"This is the last meal I'm making for you. From now on, stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours."
*****
The next day, Adam brought his lawyer over, and I signed all the paperwork without a fuss.
The lawyer, Brian Field, was an old friend of Adam's. He'd probably come ready to play marriage counselor.
But when he walked in and saw there was nothing to mediate, he pushed up his glasses and went through the motions, looking a bit lost.
Before he left, he gave me a couple of extra glances.
I didn't care.