- 3.
A week later, Jason texted, curtly summoning
me to City Hall.
As I hailed a cab, I saw a woman approaching
from across the street. Great, I thought,
rubbing my temples.
く
“Ms. Miller.” Anya looked radiant, a stark
contrast to my dying self. “I hear you and
Jason are divorcing today.”
I crossed my arms, impatient. “What? Like
last time, you’ll marry him the second I’m
gone?”
She smiled, mockingly. “No, I’m not like you.
Jason loves me. Marriage is a given. But as a
fellow woman, 1 pity you. You clung to him for
so many years, and he still ended up in my
bed.”
“By the way, I’ve been curious,” Anya leaned
closer, her perfume making me nauseous.
“Seven years married, no kids. Are you
infertile, or did Jason just not bother touching
you? I got pregnant in a month.”
<
Fury coursed through me. I slapped her. “Say
another word, and you’ll get another one.”
After our marriage, Jason had been doting.
He wouldn’t let me cook, or even walk too
far. He’d carry me from room to room. Then
he started disappearing, staying out all night.
At first, I’d look for him. Then Anya’s photos
started arriving, filling my drawer. I finally
understood. It was over. Even though I loved
him deeply.
“Sarah…” Before she could finish, I slapped
her again, harder this time, knocking her to
the ground. The emotional surge, the force,
brought up the metallic taste of blood. Then I
heard Jason’s furious voice. “Sarah!”
“Get lost,” I clutched my chest, refusing to
show weakness. “Say another word and I’ll hit
<
you too.”
Staring into his angry eyes, I said, “Let’s just
get this divorce over with. Being near you two makes me sick, literally.”
Compared to my pain, those slaps were
nothing.
“Sarah, don’t force a fight now,” Jason
snarled, grabbing my throat, raising his hand
as if to return Anya’s slaps.
Then he saw the blood trickling from my lips.
Damn it, I cursed internally. I couldn’t hold it
back.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his eyes widening,
hand dropping.
<
I shoved him away, steadying my breath.
“Stress. I’m dying. Happy now?”
As he stepped toward me, I clenched my fists,
ready to punch him. “Don’t you dare play the
concerned husband. Divorce or get out!” It
wasn’t that I didn’t want to hit him, I simply
lacked the strength.
The drive to City Hall was silent. Divorce was
quicker than marriage. Ten minutes later, we
were strangers. Jason pocketed his
certificate; I tossed mine in the trash.
“Sarah, if you weren’t so difficult, so
unlovable, we wouldn’t be here,” he said.
“Shut up,” I gritted out. “Go marry your Anya.
Stay out of my life, in sickness and in health,
and especially in death.”
<
He scoffed and got in his car. Anya gave me
a triumphant smile through the window.
“Crazy,” I muttered.
I stared at the discarded certificate. I hated
him, yet couldn’t move. Difficult. Unlovable.
Jason, I should have suggested a brain scan.
He always forgot what he said. He’d
confessed with a bouquet of lisianthus, shyly
asking, Sarah, will you be my girlfriend? I’ll
spoil you rotten, cherish you forever. I’d
treasured those words, only for him to forget
them. Or perhaps they were never sincere.
Like our vows. Till death do us part.
Jason, you’re the biggest liar in the world.
