Chapter 1
On the day my best friend Helen finalized her divorce, I also filed for divorce from Edward Walker.
He looked at me like a servant had just tried to fire her master.
"Margaret, Helen has looks and skills. She can open a shop and make money on her own. What do you have?"
Our son Daniel Walker leaned against the door, not even bothering to put down his backpack.
"Mom, don't follow Aunt Helen's example. You're just a housewife who cooks and cleans. Without Dad, who would want you?"
I looked at the father and son.
suddenly felt like the past eighteen years were a pot of burnt porridge. No one would want it served to them.
I turned around and called the number that had called me three times.
"I agree to go."
There was a pause on the other end. Then a low voice:
"Ms. Lane, once you sign, for the next twenty years, you cannot reveal your identity, you cannot come home, you cannot explain your whereabouts to anyone."
I said, "Okay."
*****
When Edward came home with Daniel, the place was still a mess.
Takeout boxes and cigarette butts were scattered everywhere.
"Mom, why didn't you clean up?" Daniel complained.
Daniel Walker spoke first. As he entered, he habitually kicked off his sneakers, sending mud from the soles onto the floor I had just half-cleaned, leaving two black streaks.
Normally, I would've grabbed a rag, knelt down, and scrubbed it off right away.
But today, I just sat on the couch, holding that cracked celadon bowl, didn't budge.
Daniel looked around the room, saw the dining table was empty, and his expression soured.
"Didn't I say I wanted pork rib soup tonight? I've got a calligraphy competition tomorrow, and Dad's got a lecture. Why are you being so lazy today?" he complained.
Edward walked in, frowning, and covered his nose with a tissue.
"I'll take Daniel to a hotel tonight," Edward said.
He was obsessed with cleanliness, but he also loved a lively house.
Whenever his students or colleagues came over for dinner, I'd be the one running around—buying groceries, prepping, cooking, and cleaning up until midnight. By morning, you'd never know anyone had been here.
They were used to it.
They took it for granted that this was just my job.
They turned to leave, not once asking if I was tired or even cared how I felt.
I set the celadon bowl down on the coffee table.
"Did you purposely not come get me today? And ignore my calls on purpose?" I asked.
Edward stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me, his face already showing impatience.
"You're still upset, all because I didn't come get you?" he said.
"You're back, aren't you? Everyone here today is from the painting and calligraphy academy. None of it would make sense to you anyway. Better off waiting outside," Edward said.
He said it so calmly, like he was just talking about some old piece of furniture that didn't belong.
Today was the celebration for him being appointed as a consultant to the city's painting and calligraphy academy.
I got up at four in the morning to braise pork, simmer soup, and steam fish, packed the table with food. Before dinner, he told me to go to the west side of the city to pick up a framed congratulatory artwork, said it was a must for the celebration.
I rode the bus for an hour and a half in the pouring rain, only for the guy at the shop to tell me I had to come back tomorrow for the painting.
I tried calling Edward, but he didn't pick up.
I tried Daniel, but he just hung up on me.
By the time I got home, soaked to the bone, the living room was a mess—beer cans, cigarette butts, dirty tissues ground into the floor, and that celadon bowl, cracked because someone couldn't even bother to set it down gently.
That bowl was something my mom left behind.
Daniel said, sounding annoyed, "Mom, can you not blow this out of proportion? Dad's just doing what's best for you. Everyone says you're not good enough for him, so he didn't let you come—so you wouldn't embarrass yourself."
I looked at the son I'd raised.
Thirteen years old, already almost as tall as me. His face was just like Edward's, and even the way he looked down on me was a perfect copy of his dad.
I married Edward when I was eighteen.
That same year, I got into Jingzhou Art Academy, but Daniel showed up early, so I dropped out. I spent my days in a tiny apartment, cooking, cleaning, and helping Edward with his coursework—sticking with him as he went from a penniless student to the Mr. Walker everyone talks about.
I never argued with what people said about me.
I thought at least my own family would understand.
The living room went quiet.
Helen's words from this afternoon suddenly echoed in my mind.
'Margaret, if all that's left in your marriage is pain, don't keep adding fuel to the fire. It won't burn anyone else—it'll just suffocate you,' Helen had said.
I looked up at Edward.
"Let's get a divorce. Daniel stays with you," I said.
My voice was flat, no emotion at all.
Edward and Daniel both froze, totally stunned.
Daniel was the first to snap out of it, raising his voice.
"Mom, are you seriously making a scene over a bowl and Dad not picking you up? You're really going to divorce him for that?" Daniel shouted.
Still fuming, he kicked the beer can by his foot. It slammed into the wall, and beer dripped down the white paint in messy streaks.
Suddenly, as if something just occurred to him, he fixed his gaze on me.
"Don't tell me you're just copying Aunt Helen because she got divorced. You two aren't even the same," he snapped.
"Why am I not?" I shot back.
I looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't try to comfort him.
"Is it because I raised a son who's ashamed of me?" I said.
Daniel's face changed, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.
Edward's expression turned cold.
"Enough," he said.
He rubbed his temples, like he was just tolerating someone being unreasonable.
"Stop making a fuss. Just stay home and rest tomorrow. Daniel's competition outfit needs ironing, and my gray suit for the lecture needs to be taken care of. If you need anything, we'll talk about it when I'm back," he said.
I gave a small laugh.
"I'm asking for a divorce, not for anything else from you," I said.
"Margaret Lane," he said.
He finally used my full name.
"If you leave me, where are you going to stay? What are you going to eat? All you've ever done is cook and clean—do you even know how to do anything else?" Edward said.
Daniel, feeling bold again, jumped in, "Mom, don't say stuff you don't mean. You can't even use your phone to pay for things. Last time at the store, I had to do it for you."
I stood up and took the household registration book and marriage certificate out of the drawer.
When Edward saw those two red books, the sarcasm on his face faded a bit.
"You've had these ready for a while?" he asked.
"I just dug them out today," I replied.
"I don't agree," he said.
He said it quickly.
I looked at him. "You always said I wasn't good enough for you. If I leave, you'll finally get the peace and quiet you wanted."
Edward stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.
"You think you can just say you want a divorce and make it happen? The house was bought after we got married, but it's in my name. All the money's under my control. You can leave if you want, but don't even think about taking anything that's not yours," he said.
Daniel started to panic.
"Mom, I've got a competition tomorrow, and my registration form is still with you. If you really leave, who's going to bring it for me?" Daniel said.
I asked, "Didn't you just say I couldn't even survive a single day on my own?"
He was at a loss for words.
Edward draped his coat over his arm.
"That's enough for tonight. I'm not talking to someone who's all worked up," he said.
He grabbed Daniel's backpack.
I took a piece of paper from under the coffee table and placed it in front of him.
"This is the divorce agreement. I've already signed it," I said.
Edward glanced at it, his face turning completely cold.
"Did you get someone to draw this up?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
The doorbell rang.
Daniel, clearly annoyed, went to open the door.
Outside stood a middle-aged woman in a dark coat, her hair neatly tied up, holding a black document bag.
She glanced at me, her tone respectful.
"Ms. Lane, the car is waiting downstairs. You need to finish signing before eight o'clock tomorrow morning," she said.
Edward frowned.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The woman ignored him, eyes only on me, waiting for my reply.
"I'm not leaving tonight. I've got one last thing to handle," I said.
She nodded and set the document bag down next to me.
"Please keep this safe. Don't let anyone else touch it," she said.
Daniel muttered, "Like this is some kind of top secret or something."
Edward's eyes landed on the document bag, his voice turning cold.
"Margaret, did you really get someone to put on a show for you?" Edward said.
I clutched the document bag to my chest.
"Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Courthouse. See you there," I said.