Till the Ninth Break Do Us Part

Steven Zimmer, the assistant of my wife, Lucy Quinn, has lost in a truth-or-dare session. Lucy doesn't hesitate to file for a divorce from me for the ninth time.

In the courthouse, I hear the staff member asking Lucy curiously, "Your husband is like a well-trained dog now. You've already married and divorced him nine times! Aren't you worried that your husband might ditch you for real?"

Lucy merely smirks at her. "Do you know that the more ruthless you are when you abandon your pets, the harder it'll be for them to live without you? In fact, they will just become more obedient and docile. As long as I curl a finger at him, he'll definitely sink down to his knees and beg me to remarry him."

Everyone bursts into laughter after that. They bet that I'll plead pathetically to Lucy to remarry me for the tenth time in less than a day after I've obtained the divorce certificate. Lucy even declares that she'll stream the tenth wedding proposal on the Internet when it happens.

But the next day, Lucy keeps waiting for me to show up at the city hall while clad in a wedding dress. All she gets is a text from me.

"No more proposals. This is the end between us, Lucy."

The company had just landed a major deal, and I worked so much overtime that I collapsed at the office with a raging fever.

While I was being rushed to the hospital, my wife, Lucy Quinn, was busy organizing a company drinking party to celebrate her assistant, Steven Zimmer's first day.

When Lucy called me at the hospital, there was no concern in her voice. She impatiently told me the waiting period was over and ordered me to pick up the divorce certificate.

She had timed it perfectly. There was exactly one hour left before the mandatory 30-day waiting period ended. Once it passed, the divorce would be finalized.

It felt as if all the blood in my body froze at once. I stood there stiffly, phone raised to my ear.

This was the ninth time Lucy was divorcing me.

We married nine times, divorcing and remarrying again and again. Hope and despair chased each other in a vicious loop.

The first time she divorced me, she said I was old-fashioned and predictable, even in bed.

The second time, she said I was too stable, too dull. I was nothing like her young assistant with his energy and spark.

The next six divorces followed the same pattern, each one coming with a new excuse, each one cutting a little deeper.

Listening to the clink of glasses on the other end of the call and the drunken laughter slurring together, I understood perfectly. This ninth divorce was nothing more than a truth-or-dare stunt at her drinking table.

The pleas I wanted to voice stayed trapped in my throat. Lucy had always said the thing she hated most was my clinginess.

At that moment, I was exhausted and utterly hopeless.

I knew Lucy too well. Once she made up her mind, she never backed down. Ignoring the nurse's attempts to stop me, I pulled out the IV needle and staggered out toward the courthouse.

I dragged myself in, dizzy and aching, only to see Lucy glowing with pride. She was talking happily about her successes from the "abandoned-cat effect".

Her words were so cold they pierced straight through me. In that instant, I finally understood everything.

I never figured out why Lucy kept marrying and divorcing me over and over again.

To stay married, I molded myself to fit her expectations, losing whatever parts of me she rejected. But no matter how desperately I begged, she would always bring up divorce again almost immediately.

I would grit my teeth and agree. Not long after, she would cry and say she couldn't live without me, and every single time, I went back to her.

I had ground myself down to nothing, thrown away all my pride just to cater to Lucy and please her.

Only now did I realize the truth. Nine divorces, nine remarriages; it was just her way of keeping me under her thumb.

The anxious, insecure version of me in this marriage was a complete joke.

Tears streamed down my face. It felt as if my heart itself had shattered.

Lucy chatted with the staff a moment longer before she finally turned and saw me.

For a heartbeat, her expression stiffened. Then she hurried over and grabbed my hand. "Zack, when did you get here? Why didn't you call out to me?"

I hesitated. I could feel her probing in her tone, so I kept the truth to myself. "I just got here."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she let go of my hand. "Alright. Look at you. It's not even your first divorce, and yet you're crying your eyes out. Are you even a man? And what took you so long? We've been waiting forever."

I gave her a bitter smile and raised my arm to show her the needle mark. "I've got a fever."

Lucy's eyes widened, a flicker of concern breaking through her usual composure. "A fever? Why didn't you tell me? We could've delayed getting the certificate. I'll drive you to the hospital."

I remembered telling her earlier at the office, but she had been busy fussing over Steven's tie before rushing off to the party, brushing me off with a half-hearted reminder to stay hydrated.

However, I didn't argue. My voice was hoarse as I asked her, "Lucy, are you sure you want to divorce me over a drinking-game challenge? This is our ninth divorce. I won't remarry you again. I'll ask you one last time. Do you really want this?"

I remembered how we had gotten together. She pursued me first, staging nine elaborated declarations of love that people still talked about on campus.

And yet, on the very night we registered our marriage, she'd asked for a divorce.

At the time, I had asked why.

She had smirked and said, "I humiliated myself declaring my love for you nine times. Even if I divorce you nine times, you can take it. You owe me this!"

That was why I endured all those humiliations, telling myself it was repayment for the past.

But now, this was the last time.

Hesitation flickered across Lucy's face when she heard my question.