Love You For Ten Years, Forget You For A Second

I slowly stood up, sat in front of the computer, and typed out the divorce agreement word by word.

I didn't call him. There was no point in trying to wake someone who pretended to be asleep.

I stood up calmly and put the divorce agreement on the table.

I looked around at the house we had lived in for five years.

Every detail, from the furniture layout to the belongings, was my meticulous design.

Overwhelmed by these memories, I trembled, unable to maintain composure.

I covered my heart and screamed uncontrollably.

I tried to vent all the pain of the past few years.

I overturned the table, shattering the dinnerware into pieces.

I picked up a hammer and smashed the bathroom mirror.

With a resounding crash, the broken glass covered the pair of toothbrushes.

I threw the double chair out of the building and took the red paint from the stairwell and aimed it at the white wall.

In an instant, the room was filled with red marks.

I threw the paint can on the ground with an unprecedented madness and indulgence in my eyes.

Suddenly, Jeffrey called me, "Hello? Anna, there is a dance party tonight. Get ready. I will send you the address later."

I didn't say anything, and Jeffrey didn't care either. He just informed me in a businesslike manner.

He seemed indifferent to my willingness or the fragility of a woman recovering from a miscarriage.

He continued, "You have to come this time. Rumors abound, and only our joint presence can dispel them."

I sneered, "Dispelling rumors? Isn't what the netizens said true? We don't love each other. What does it matter whether I go to the party or not?"

Jeffrey paused before retorting sharply, "Anna, you said this yourself. Don't cry and beg me to take you to the party!"

"Let's get a divorce." I interrupted him.

The word "divorce" came out of my mouth lightly.

It was a word I never imagined speaking.

But now, I proposed it myself.

His response was immediate, "What did you say? What the hell are you fussing about? Isn't it just that you lost a child?"

He seemed angry.

I could even imagine him yelling into the phone, veins bulging.

I pinched my fingertips, and the glaring blood dripped onto the white floor.

I took a deep breath, and released all the pent-up emotions for years, "Jeffrey, do you think it's just because of that child that things have come to this? I'm telling you, I've decided. I want to divorce you. I don't want you anymore. Do you understand?"

For the first time, I lost my composure with Jeffrey.

It was an unprecedented pleasure.

I thought Jeffrey would scold me and mock me.

To my surprise, his response was silence.

After a long while, he snorted coldly, "Anna, who do you think you are? I can't wait for you to leave, and I don't care."

I continued, "Then sign the agreement soon."