Chapter 1
On my wedding anniversary, my husband was in Rome, watching the fireworks display with his childhood sweetheart. Beneath the Colosseum, enveloped by the romantic glow of street lamps, they held each other close and kissed. If that man weren't my husband, I might have offered my congratulations more sincerely.
To carve out time for Adrian and our anniversary, I worked tirelessly, cramming a week's worth of tasks into just three or four days. Marisol laughed and cheerfully granted me a few days off to relax at home. Reflecting on how my busy schedule had distanced me from Adrian recently, I resolved to prepare an elaborate dinner tonight to make it up to him.
After preparing a table full of dishes, exhaustion overcame me, and I collapsed onto the sofa, absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram. Suddenly, a local video appeared with the title: "Enduring youthful romance, still going strong." Filmed by a blogger on the streets of Italy, comments praised the couple's idyllic romance as if it were straight out of a movie. But as I watched, my heart sank, and clutching my phone tightly, I replied: "Hahaha, they're a perfect match, if the guy weren't my husband."
My comment stirred up a storm of reactions. Responses flooded in:
User A: "Are you leaving or not? Just say it—are you leaving?"
User B: "Girl, are you some kind of saint? You haven't left him yet? I can't believe you're putting up with this."
User C: "I know this guy; he works at my company. He's always boasting about how much he pampers his wife. Didn't expect him to be so awful!"
I held back tears, biting my lip and gripping the leather of the couch with all my might. Just then, Adrian sent me a text:
"The company sent me on a business trip at the last minute. Let's meet when I'm back."
Clearly, Adrian hadn't seen the uproar online—and why would he, with Vienna by his side? What do time or I even matter?
As the sun slowly set, the only light remaining came from the two candles on the dinner table and the glow of my phone. I messaged him: "Why the sudden trip? Do you not remember what today is?"
I called him, but he declined the call immediately. Call after call, he kept hanging up. On my third attempt, he answered, irritation coloring his voice: "Carolina, what do you want? I've already told you—I'm on a business trip. Can you stop bothering me?"
I tried to mask the tremble in my voice. "Is it really a business trip?"
"Can you just stop? I'm genuinely in Italy for work. Can’t you just quit sticking to me all day long? I’m hanging up!"
Before I could utter another word, the line went dead.
I wanted to ask Adrian—why? Why do you treat me this way? You used to be different, Adrian...
Why couldn’t he avoid Vienna’s presence when talking to me? Why did her voice have to intrude?
Later, Adrian transferred thirty thousand dollars to me, claiming he was simply worn out from overtime and didn’t mean to be harsh. He suggested I use it to buy something nice as a wedding anniversary gift.
I declined the money, wiped away my tears, and sent the video to him.
"Did you enjoy the fireworks? Was it fun being with your lover?"
"When you’ve had enough, come back. Let’s get a divorce."