Chapter 1

Three years after the divorce, Ethan and I ran into each other again on a street.

I was there as a volunteer, handing out cold medicine, while he had ended up homeless, barely scraping by.

The irony was hard to miss. Back then, the reason we divorced was a single box of cold medicine.

"Twice a day. Two pills each time." I handed the medicine to him, my voice so calm it sounded like I was talking to a stranger.

Ethan's eyes reddened instantly. "Sophie, you still hate me."

I didn't look up and kept passing out the medicine. "This cost one dollar," I said flatly. "Cheap enough. Yet back then, it drove me to sell my blood."

"Ethan," I added, "how could I not hate you?"

*****

I said it as if hate was just another word to me.

Behind me, Ethan froze. He didn't say another word.

After a long while, I heard footsteps fading away. I turned around and watched as his thin figure was swallowed by Rainport's gray, icy rain.

"Sophie, do you know that homeless guy?" Emily brushed my arm gently. She was my junior and sort of from the same place as me.

I looked away and nodded. "Yeah. He is my ex-husband."

Emily gasped, unable to hide her shock. "Y-your ex-husband? Sophie, how did you end up marrying a homeless man?"

I shook my head and finished handing out the last pack of cold medicine. "When I met him, he wasn't like this.

"That's about all the medicine. Looks like the rain's only getting heavier—let's get back in the car and head to campus."

On the way back, I caught Emily stealing glances at me, clearly wanting to ask but not daring to. I smiled helplessly and started talking, on and off, about my past with Ethan.

It was nothing special—just a run-of-the-mill campus love story.

After graduation, he became a computer engineer in Tech Valley, and I worked as an actuary at a securities firm. We both earned good money.

We rented a place in a wealthy neighborhood, safe and quiet.

In my mind, our future was already mapped out. Five years later, we'd buy a home, get married, have a sweet child, and live the life we'd always dreamed of.

But as Emily listened, her frown just kept getting deeper. "That sounds like a happy life," she said. "So why did you divorce? Did Ethan cheat?"

I pressed down her clenched fist and explained, "No. He didn't cheat. Neither did I. We divorced because of a pan."

Emily was shocked, convinced I was joking.

Alright, maybe it wasn't just one pan after all.

Three years ago, it was another rainy night like this.

I had asked Ethan to swing by the department store on his way home from work and grab a new pan. Our landlord's old nonstick pan had seen better days—the coating was practically gone.

I took care of the groceries, planning a carefully cooked dinner to celebrate our anniversary.

In my mind, the pan would be bubbling away, Ethan would sniff the air and say, "Smells amazing," and we'd start with soup, talk about the future, maybe even buying our own place next year—or adopting a cat.

But the moment I opened the door, Ethan came barreling in, holding a brand-new camera, waving it like crazy. "Babe, check this out. I paid extra to snag it—it's limited edition."

I stared at the camera for a few seconds, frozen. The plastic bags in my hand dug into my palms, leaving them red and tingling.

"Where's the pan?" I asked automatically.

Ethan froze for a second, then shrugged with a grin, like it didn't matter. "It's just a pan. The store isn't going anywhere—we can get it anytime.

"But this one's limited edition. Isn't a camera way more romantic than a pan?

"Oh, by the way, I saw we still had some money in our joint account, so I booked us plane tickets. Pack your bags—we're taking the new camera to Nordica to chase the aurora."

I didn't say anything. I just set down the shopping bags, pulled out my phone, and checked our account. The balance was 0.41 dollars. It was not even enough to cover this month's water bill.

Ethan's excited voice kept going in the background. "Babe, this camera's low-light performance is insane. The aurora shots will be crystal clear, with no grain at all. When we get back from Nordica, we'll print them out and stick them on the fridge..."

That familiar sense of helplessness washed over me. I felt so tired.

Three years, and Ethan had never changed. He lived entirely in the moment, wanting everything right now, even if it meant maxing out credit cards. But what I wanted was stability, a future I could plan for and protect.

I looked up at him, still fiddling with the shiny new camera, grinning like a kid.

And suddenly, it hit me. Ethan and I weren't on the same path. "We should get a divorce."