Julian Shaw paid over ten thousand dollars a gram for rare coffee beans, just so he could personally make me a pour-over every morning. He once told a global news outlet, "My wife is grumpy when she wakes up. Only the aroma of fresh coffee and my kisses can coax her out of bed." The entire world thought he was madly in love with me. But as I watched that interview, my eyes fixed on the small bouquet of daisies tucked into his suit pocket, I sent him a text. [Let's get a divorce.] … The news that Julian Shaw, CEO of the Shaw Corporation, had purchased a lot of world-renowned Panamanian coffee beans at a record-breaking price was headline news. Our names shot to the top of every social media trend. [My husband can't even be bothered to get me a glass of water when I have cramps, and Julian Shaw is making his wife coffee by hand every morning. The jealousy is real.] [When are Julian and Lucy having kids? I need to know so I can plan my reincarnation accordingly.] [What did Lucy Hayes do to deserve a life this good?!] Julian had never been shy about his grand, public displays of affection. For a time, I was genuinely moved by his passionate declarations. But I couldn't lie to myself anymore. He called me the second he got my text. "Honey, don't be like this," his voice was a low, urgent murmur. "You can be angry, you can yell at me, hit me, anything. But you can't say the 'D' word. It would kill me." "Julian, I'm serious." "Tell me what you're mad about. I'll fix it," he said, his tone gentle, patient, as if he had all the time in the world for my whims. "I don't like daisies." A few seconds of silence on his end. "That's it?" "Yes. That's it." It took him a moment to remember why I hated them. "I'm so sorry, baby. It was an oversight. I didn't notice when Hannah put the arrangement together. Please don't be angry. When I get home tonight, you can have me any way you want as compensation." When had "Ms. Vance, my assistant" become just "Hannah"? I doubt even he noticed the shift. Years ago, a single daisy had sprouted in our garden. Julian had hired a team to dig up the entire lawn, terrified a single seed might have been missed. They scorched the earth for a week before replanting it with roses. How could a man so meticulous, so attuned to my every aversion, "overlook" a bouquet of daisies pinned to his chest? The garden outside my window looked lifeless in the winter chill, a perfect mirror of my marriage, slowly dying. A few moments later, my phone rang again. It was Hannah Vance. "Mrs. Shaw, I am so, so sorry. It was my mistake, and I'm terribly sorry for upsetting you. Please don't be angry with Mr. Shaw. I'll be much more careful next time." Her voice was soft and fragile, as if a strong breeze could blow her away. I knew Julian was right there beside her. "Next time?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "What other disasters are you planning to orchestrate?" "Okay, Lucy, that's enough," Julian's voice cut in, firm but gentle. He couldn't bear to see her upset for even a second. "The poor girl has apologized. Be a little more gracious." A soft sob came through the phone. "It's okay," Hannah wept. "I'm fine. She can yell at me all she wants, as long as she's not angry with you, Julian." "Shh, don't cry. It's nothing, it's a small thing," Julian soothed, his voice a tender caress. But to me, it was like the screech of nails on a chalkboard, carving a raw, bleeding wound across my heart. "Just leave me alone," I snapped, tossing the phone aside. I couldn't listen to another second of it. Ding. Two messages arrived simultaneously. One was from Julian. [You've yelled, you've let off some steam. Feeling better now? My darling wife's temper is getting bigger and bigger. You're making my life so hard. ;) ] I let out a bitter laugh. So, raising my voice to the woman he was comforting now counted as "yelling." The other was from Hannah. [Oops, I forgot. Your mother jumped to her death into a field of daisies, didn't she? Was it a beautiful field? As beautiful as this?] Attached was a photo. A vast, endless field of daisies stretching to the horizon. The world spun. I reached for a chair to steady myself but missed, collapsing to the floor. My forehead hit the sharp edge of the seat. My mother had jumped right in front of me. My father's endless affairs had worn her down, day by day, until she was nothing but a ghost. Her final act was the only thing that made him stop. "Love makes you weak, it makes you pathetic," she'd told me. "Don't become me." Her last words still echoed in my mind during my darkest nights. Julian and I were high school classmates. Girls flocked to him, but he only had eyes for me. I rejected him ten times, but he never gave up. He seemed to thrive on the challenge. Later, my father's company was on the brink of collapse. He wanted me to marry into the Jiang family to secure a financial rescue. Julian had confronted me then, his eyes red and raw. "Why? Why is some stranger you've never met acceptable, but I'm not?" The next day, he went to my father with an investment agreement. "Lucy is a free woman," he'd said. "You can't force her to marry anyone." His left cheek was swollen that day. I knew his own father must have beaten him for that deal. I brought him an ice pack and asked if he wanted to marry me. He stared at me for a long moment, and then he started to cry. After we were married, he truly did put me on a pedestal. He remembered all my favorite things, my pet peeves, and showered me with extravagant surprises on every occasion. When I had nightmares, he would hold me tight, stroking my back until I fell back asleep. For a while, I thought my mother was wrong. Love didn't make you weak; it could make a withered rose bloom again. Until a few months ago, when he hired Hannah Vance as his assistant, against my explicit wishes. That's when I understood. Julian was no different from my father. He never understood why I had such animosity towards a fresh-faced college graduate. But I knew the moment I saw her photo that he would hire her. Because she looked exactly like me in high school. The me that Julian could never have. After sending the photo, Hannah posted on her social media. [I'm such an idiot. I messed up big time. Boss just canceled my year-end bonus. I just want to go hide and cry.] Julian commented instantly. [Mistakes happen. I'm giving you the afternoon off. Go have a good cry.] I couldn't tell if he was trying to protect me or flaunting their relationship in my face. After lunch, I drove out to our hot springs villa in the suburbs. It was a wedding gift from the Han family. We'd moved out because the commute was inconvenient, but a lot of our important documents were still stored there. As I approached the door, I heard the sound of splashing water. There was a small hot spring pool in the courtyard, but we hadn't been here all year. There shouldn't have been anyone in it. "Feeling better? Still want to cry?" Julian's voice, so painfully familiar, drifted through the wall. A chill ran down my spine. He'd brought her here. To our wedding home. "You have to make it up to me for my bonus!" Hannah's voice was no longer soft and fragile. It was playful, coquettish. "You were naughty. You have to be punished so you learn your lesson. I told you not to bring this up in front of Lucy. That's my one rule." "Then send a company-wide email about it! I feel so wronged." "I know you do. Did you like that apartment we looked at? You should move in. It'll be more convenient for you to get to work." "Is that all I get? A new apartment?" "What do you want, then?" Hannah's voice dropped to a breathy whisper. I couldn't make out the words. I only heard the sound of water, splashing violently from the pool. "Hmph. Let's see if I can make you cry out for real," Julian's voice was a low, husky growl, every syllable crystal clear. I knew Hannah was confident in their relationship to have sent me that photo. But hearing it, experiencing it firsthand... the pain was overwhelming. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick, my body trembling as I dragged myself back to the car. My mother was right. Love made you weak. But I would not become her. I took several deep breaths and called Julian. "Hey, baby. What's up?" His voice was slightly breathless. "Where are you?" "In a meeting with a client." "I can't find one of the old contracts. I was thinking it might be at the villa..." I said, testing him. "No way. All the important stuff was moved to the house. I'm sure of it. Just look again." "Really? I still think I should go check." "Don't go—" His voice shot up an octave. "I mean, it's not safe for you to drive all that way alone. I'll go with you this weekend, okay?" "Never mind. It's not urgent. You're busy," I said, my voice flat, and hung up. A new message from Hannah popped up instantly. [So you check up on him too? Here, let me give you a full report.] Attached was a photo. A box of condoms on a nightstand, with only a few remaining. Bile rose in my throat. The man who had sworn to cherish me for a lifetime was utterly filthy. I didn't go home. I drove to an event production company. They were handling the Shaw Corporation's 20th-anniversary gala next month. To liven things up, Julian was scheduled to perform a magic trick—an underwater escape act—with one of their professional performers. "Can I be the one in the tank?" I asked the manager. "I want to surprise my husband." "Mrs. Shaw, without proper training, it's very risky," the manager said, hesitant to agree, fearing an accident. "Thirty thousand dollars," I said. "For my training. I'll come every day." "Well, in that case... You and Mr. Shaw are a true power couple. So romantic." "Please keep this a secret," I said, forcing a smile. If he loved playing the doting husband so much, then I would be the one to rip up the script. I would disappear from the world, right before his very eyes. Julian came home late that night. I was still reviewing the materials from the production company. "Honey, I'm so sorry. I got held up at the client's. I'm so late." He noticed the bruise on my forehead. "What happened to your head? Are you hurt?" He leaned in to inspect the wound. As he did, I saw a faint red mark, a hickey, just visible above the collar of his shirt. I snapped my laptop shut and pushed him away. "Still mad?" He produced a square jewelry box and opened it. Inside lay a magnificent emerald necklace, easily worth over half a million dollars. "Honey, I've had my eye on this for a while. It matches your aura perfectly. Do you like it?" I laughed, a bitter, self-deprecating sound. I never thought I'd be in this position. He buys his mistress an apartment and then immediately buys me a necklace to "compensate." How ridiculous. As if he could balance the scales between his wife and his lover. "I don't like it," I said, pushing the box away. "Can't you just be agreeable for once? You're harder to please than any of my clients," he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin. He slammed the bathroom door shut. He didn't understand. I used to be easy to please because I never intended to argue with him. Now, I was difficult because I had no intention of ever forgiving him. In the weeks leading up to the gala, I was busier than ever. I saw less and less of Julian. But someone else was keeping me updated on his schedule. [He introduced me to his friends today. We all went out for drinks. They're fun. Why do you think they don't like you?] [Have you ever done it in a car on a mountain top? He's insatiable.] [Guess where I am? Your old high school athletic field. My legs are jelly.] [This is so boring. You never reply. Are you just going to let me walk all over you? How does it feel to be abandoned? Feel like dying yet?] I ignored her. Julian's taste in women was truly appalling. I dialed a recent number in my call history. "How is he?" I asked in a low voice. "Is the old man still alive? Did he agree to sign?" "Mr. Hayes has agreed to transfer all his company shares to you," the voice on the other end replied. I hung up, a sliver of satisfaction finally cutting through the gloom. I pulled open a drawer and scanned its contents—contracts, deeds, plane tickets—my eyes finally landing on a set of divorce papers.
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