Chapter 1

Ever since I was a kid, I could never tell when someone was joking. Whatever people told me to do, I did.

When I was little, my mother snapped, "If you've got the guts, don't ever come back." I stayed at my grandmother's until I turned eighteen.

While we were dating, Charles Ford said, "You're not going to cling to me forever, are you?" So I stayed by his side for seven straight years.

That all changed on our seventh wedding anniversary.

To cheer up his first love, he pushed me onto a Divorce Roulette Wheel.

The wheel had only three options.

[Leave with nothing.]

[Beg before his first love.

[Get out of the Ford family.]

His buddies were howling with laughter.

"Isn't Grace the one who loves Charles the most?"

"She'll never walk away, even if she lands on divorce."

His first love nestled against him, feigning thoughtfulness. "If Grace can't take a joke, just let it go. Don't force her."

But Charles took my hand and spun the pointer himself. "Relax. She can't leave me.

"A little scare, and she'll learn to behave."

The pointer landed on: [Get out of the Ford family.]

He swirled his wine glass carelessly. "A bet's a bet. Get out."

I nodded, finally letting out a breath of relief.

After all, the only reason I'd stayed this long was that I could never refuse a joke.

*****

When the pointer landed on [Get out of the Ford family], I finally let out a huge sigh of relief.

Leaving with nothing meant walking away broke.

Begging before Emily wouldn't cost me money, but it would cost me my pride and my dignity.

Compared to the other two options, getting out of the Ford family was clearly the best deal.

Leaving the Ford family's place just meant calling a cab.

I checked earlier. Heading back to the Ford house to pack up would cost me 9.6 dollars.

If I carpooled, I could knock off another 2 dollars.

Perfect.

I grabbed my bag and got ready to head out.

Charles finally bothered to look at me.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

I gave him a little bow. "I'm getting out of the Ford family."

The room went quiet for a second, then the laughter got even louder.

Michael thumped the table, hyping things up.

"Grace, you're really playing along," he teased.

Emily shot me a playful smile, her eyes crinkling.

"Grace, don't be mad. Charles was just kidding," she said.

I looked at Charles.

"Are you just kidding?" I asked.

He can't stand it when I keep digging.

Sure enough, he slammed his wine glass down.

"I told you to get out. Can't you understand that?" he snapped.

I understood him loud and clear.

I'd been like this since I was a kid.

The doctor said it's a compulsive obedience response caused by trauma.

Most people, when they hear "get out," know it's just someone blowing off steam and expect to be coaxed back.

But I was not like that.

To me, "get out" means just that. "Don't come back" means exactly that.

The doctor said it could be treated.

The only catch? It was expensive.

One round of treatment abroad? That would set me back 0.6 million dollars.

So Charles was right.

Guess Charles was right about me. I really cared about money.

Over the past seven years, whenever he gave me clothes, I'd only pick the brand-new ones, never worn.

When it came to the household money he gave me, even the free scallions that came with my groceries went into my ledger.

Even for today's anniversary gift, I compared prices at three stores before buying it.

Now, that bracelet was on Emily's wrist.

She lifted her hand, and the diamonds sparkled so much that it hurt my eyes.

"Grace, Charles said you didn't like this stuff, so I only took it because of that," she said.

Of course I like it.

I was into anything that could make me some cash.

That bracelet used to have both mine and Charles's names engraved inside.

Now my name's been scratched out and replaced with Emily's.

Seven years ago, Emily left the country without a second glance, just to marry someone else.

Charles drank so much he ended up with a stomach bleed, and I was the one who took him to the hospital.

When he woke up, he grabbed my hand.

"Grace, don't leave me," he said.

I could never tell if someone was being real or just putting on an act, so I always took everything at face value. That was why I stayed.

Later, he proposed to me, saying he'd give loving me a shot.

I spent seven years trying to love him.

Now, it looked like he was finally worn out.

I walked to the door, and Michael was still cracking up.

"Grace, you can leave tonight, but don't forget to come back tomorrow morning and cook up some hangover soup for Charles," Michael teased.

Charles leaned back on the couch, looking totally sure of himself.

"She won't even make it till tomorrow morning," he said. "She's so stingy she wouldn't even spend 7 bucks on delivery. She'll be crawling back in two hours."

I didn't bother to explain.

He had no idea that the 0.6 million dollars I'd been saving finally hit my account yesterday.

Now I had two choices: stay and celebrate our anniversary, or go abroad for treatment.

I booked a carpool on my phone.

I paid 7.6 dollars and saved 2 dollars.

That was already a pretty good start.

When I got back to the Ford house, the Divorce Roulette Wheel was already waiting for me.

It was right in the center of the living room, standing out even more than our wedding photo.

The options on the wheel were different now.

[Apologize to Emily.]

[Make breakfast for Emily for a month.]

[Admit you're just throwing a tantrum.]

Lily was standing next to the wheel, looking like she couldn't wait to throw a cloth over it.

"Mr. Ford said he'd spin it again when you returned," she said.

I shook my head. "I'm not coming back."

Lily started to panic. "Mrs. Ford, Mr. Ford is just talking tough."

I knew what 'talking tough' meant.

The doctor told me it meant his words didn't match his feelings.

But the thing was, I couldn't tell when that was happening.

Two years into our marriage, I tried handing Charles my diagnosis report.

That day, Emily had just gotten divorced and was calling him from abroad, crying her eyes out.

Charles only glanced at the cover. "Psychiatry? You're at home all day. What kind of psychological problems could you possibly have?"

With that, he grabbed his phone and headed to the study.

I waited in the living room until the early hours, but he never came back.

The next day, the maid treated the diagnosis report like trash and tossed it out.

After that, I never brought it up again.

Charles liked it when I always did what he wanted.

He said he hated cilantro, so for seven years, I kept the house completely cilantro-free.

He said he didn't like me in short skirts, so I stuck to long pants even when it was boiling hot outside.

He told me not to leave him, so I never left his side.

Maybe because I was so good at following orders, he never thought it might be a problem.

To him, it was just love.

Sometimes, even I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.

I opened the closet and pulled out the suitcase I'd packed ages ago.

It wasn't very big.

Three sets of clothes, a bag of IDs and papers, and my medical records.

I didn't take anything else.

The jewelry Charles gave me was worth a lot, but some pieces were actually listed under Ford Enterprises' name.

If I tried to sell them, I'd probably get sued in no time.

Sure, I cared about money, but that didn't mean I was willing to lose any.

Lily glanced at the closet, saw that only a tiny section was empty, and looked even more at ease.

"I knew you were just going away for a couple of days," she said.

"No," I replied.

"You didn't even take any clothes. How is that not just a short trip?" she asked.

"I can buy clothes abroad," I said.

They would probably be even cheaper when things went on sale.

Lily wasn't convinced, so she turned around and called Charles.

As soon as the call connected, Emily's voice came through first.

"Charles, my stomach hurts again," Emily said.

Charles asked, "Where's Grace's stomach medicine?"

I glanced over at the bedside table.

Two boxes of meds from the doctor sat there, meant to keep my anxiety and compulsive issues in check.

The packaging was in a foreign language.

Charles always thought they were just for my stomach.

"Tell her to leave the medicine behind," Charles said.

Lily hesitated. "But that's Grace's medicine."

Charles let out a laugh.

"She's healthier than anyone here," he scoffed. "So what if Emily takes a couple?"

That was the second straightforward demand he gave me tonight.

The first was to kick me out.

The second was to leave the medicine behind.

I took out the medicine and put it on the table.

Charles heard the sound, and his voice got a little gentler.

"That's more like it," he said. "Come back tomorrow morning and cook some porridge for Emily, and I won't hold it against you for ruining the mood tonight."

"Tomorrow morning won't work for me," I said.

I had a flight to catch.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Charles probably never thought I'd actually say no to him.

"Grace, don't push your luck," he said. "Once you walk out that door, don't even think about begging me to take you back."

"Okay," I said.

Charles let out a laugh, exasperated but amused. "Is 'okay' the only thing you ever say?"

I thought for a moment. "Goodbye."

I dragged my suitcase to the door.

Lily hurried after me and pressed the wedding photo into my hands.

"Mrs. Ford, you should take this with you," she said.

The glass on the photo had a crack running through it.

I remembered how Charles used to be busy texting Emily, while I stood next to him, grinning like I'd just hit the jackpot.

I looked at the photo for a couple of seconds, then gave it back to Lily.

"Can't even sell this," I said. "And it breaks so easily."

No reason to take it with me.

As I closed the door, the Divorce Roulette Wheel in the living room caught a gust of wind and started spinning.

The pointer whirled around several times.

Finally, it came to a stop at: [Admit you're just throwing a tantrum.]

I stared at it for a moment. Did it really stop there? That couldn't be right.

I was not throwing a tantrum.

I was doing what I was told.