It was at a game of Truth or Dare when someone asked Ethan, “If you could do it all over again, would you choose Leah or Jennifer?” Ethan downed a glass of liquor, a wistful look in his eyes. “Back then, I was too broke,” he said, his voice laced with regret. “A girl like Jennifer would have only suffered with me.” And so, he chose me. But things were different now. He had money, power, and status. He could protect Jennifer, shelter her from the world. He could even kneel on one knee and let her use his leg as a stepping stone. As for me? He just didn’t understand. “I’ve already made you Mrs. Cranston,” he’d say. “What more could you possibly want?” 1 Today is my birthday. Ethan asked me what my wish was. I tossed my earrings onto the nightstand and half-heartedly blew out the candles. Then, I clasped my hands together with exaggerated reverence and said with deadpan sincerity, “I wish we could get a divorce as soon as possible.” The words hung in the air, freezing him in place. The faint smile on his face slowly dissolved. After a long moment, he sighed and rubbed his temples, a picture of weary frustration. “Are you still angry?” he asked. “I rushed back, didn’t I?” “Don’t keep throwing the word ‘divorce’ around. I might actually start to believe you mean it.” I looked at him. The exhaustion was etched onto his face. A week of gallivanting around Scandinavia with Jennifer must have been tiring, followed by a nine-hour flight. He hadn't even stopped, driving straight to our home at The Grandview to pick me up. He’d had a cake delivered and asked our housekeeper to buy fresh ingredients. The moment he walked through the door, he started cooking me an elaborate meal. He was still in his travel clothes, all for the sake of celebrating my birthday. In previous years, a gesture like this would have made me melt. I would have felt like the luckiest woman in the world. But this year was different. I felt nothing. If anything, I was annoyed. I met his gaze, my expression blank. “Divorce. Divorce. Divorce. Is that clear enough? I can keep saying it if you need me to. I’m begging you to take me seriously.” His face turned to ice. His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing in sharp relief. He kicked a chair, the legs screeching against the floor. “That’s enough, Leah.” “How long are you going to keep this up? Do you find this amusing?” He took a few deep breaths, trying to rein in his temper. “I didn’t miss your birthday. I came back to be with you. You can drop the act.” “I’m going to go take a shower,” he said, turning his back on me. “You need to cool down.” He went upstairs without a second glance. I stared at the sickeningly sweet buttercream cake and the still-steaming dishes on the table, genuinely baffled. Why on earth did he think him rushing back to celebrate my birthday was so important to me? My friends had planned a perfect night for me: fireworks, fine wine, and handsome men. It was supposed to be a flawless celebration. Then Ethan showed up and ruined everything. He had been the perfect gentleman, his voice laced with a deep affection as he took my hand. He smiled at my friends and said, “May I borrow Leah for the rest of the night?” Then he had whisked me away, his grip firm. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t protest. I even kept a smile plastered on my face. Not because I was happy, but because I’m used to keeping up appearances. It’s second nature to be civil, even when you’re screaming on the inside. 2 While Ethan showered upstairs, I sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. The phone rang as I was starting my second. Jennifer’s name flashed on the screen. I watched it ring for a full thirty seconds, making no move to answer. I crushed the butt of my cigarette into the ashtray and poured myself a glass of wine. The phone rang again. Still Jennifer. This time, I answered and put it on speaker. Jennifer’s imperious, demanding voice filled the room. “Where’s Ethan? Put him on the phone.” I said nothing, downing the red wine in one gulp. “Leah, I know you’re there. Answer me.” “Get Ethan on the phone. I need to talk to him.” “Ugh, do you think I’d be calling you if his phone wasn’t turned off? This is so annoying!” Her voice was thick with barely suppressed anger. A cold smile touched my lips. “He’s in the shower.” “Is there something you need?” Jennifer fell silent. A few seconds later, she spoke again, her voice dripping with acid. “You two really don’t waste any time, do you?” “Is there anything you do besides screwing each other?” “Disgusting.” Her words made me chuckle. “What we do in our bed is perfectly legal. What’s it to you?” “Or is he supposed to stay celibate for you?” “What the hell are you talking about?” Jennifer shrieked, her composure cracking. “I wouldn’t stoop to sleeping with him. He might be a prize to you, but to me, Ethan Cranston is nothing.” She said it with a certain amount of conviction. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. “What do you want? If you’re not going to say, I’m hanging up.” “The code!” she said, her voice urgent. “What’s the code to the house? It’s this long string of numbers, I can never remember it. It’s so irritating.” 3 24563. The code. It was the passcode for every property we owned, the lock screen on Ethan’s phone. It had never changed. I had asked him once what the six digits meant. “Nothing,” he’d said dismissively. “Just a random number.” For a time, I believed him. Then one day, I picked up his phone and typed the numbers into the old T9 keypad. The letters that appeared spelled out: C-H-L-O-E. I said nothing. I ended the call and tossed the phone aside. As I was pouring myself another glass of wine, Ethan came downstairs, a towel wrapped around his waist. He was drying his hair when I handed him a folder. “What’s this?” “The divorce papers. Sign them.” Ethan shot me a cold look and started to walk past me toward the liquor cabinet. I swept my arm across the dining table. Plates, glasses, and food went crashing to the floor. The sound was deafening in the dead of night. Ethan’s fury finally erupted. He stalked toward me. “What the hell is wrong with you? Is this all because I was a few hours late for your birthday?” I laughed in his face. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that important.” “You can sign these papers calmly, or we can burn everything to the ground, and then you can sign them. Your choice.” His face was a mask of rage. He threw the towel on the floor. “You’re being irrational.” He turned to go back upstairs, but my voice stopped him. “Jennifer called just now.” “She said she couldn’t reach you. She doesn’t know the code to her place and can’t get in.” Ethan froze. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” “Did you give her the code?” “Why would I do that?” I asked, my voice glacial. His brow furrowed. He started to rush upstairs to change. But I was faster. I lunged forward and planted my foot squarely in the middle of his back. As he stumbled, I dropped down, pinning him with my knee and twisting his arms behind him in one smooth motion. He grunted in pain and roared, “Leah, what are you doing?” I leaned over him, slapping the folder against his cheek. “Sign the papers.” “If you don’t, you’re not leaving this house.” “Your precious little princess can freeze outside all night for all I care.” This time, Ethan was silent for a long, long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and defeated. “You know what I can’t stand about you? The way you always, always resort to violence.” 4 My relationship with Ethan is… complicated. In our poorest years, we lived in the same building, one floor apart, and never exchanged a single word. My mother was a beautiful woman who had me at nineteen and spent the rest of her life drifting from one man to another. My grandmother, determined I wouldn’t follow the same path, raised me like a boy. She even had me learn self-defense from the man downstairs. He was a boxing coach, a mountain of muscle, but he had a son who was perpetually frail, a boy he treated like a delicate porcelain doll. That was Ethan and his father. As kids, I was the one who protected Ethan. He was my little sidekick, and I was his shield. That lasted for ten years, until my grandmother passed away, and then his father was killed. We were just kids, left all alone in the world. We should have clung to each other for warmth. But for some reason I never understood, he started to push me away. I wasn’t a fool. I felt the cold shoulder, so I stopped trying. He was smart and handsome, but his cold demeanor and weak constitution kept him isolated. In high school, when boys are full of testosterone and cruelty, he became a target. I overheard some of the basketball players one day. “That pretty boy, he’s so annoying. We should break one of his fingers.” Ethan’s fingers. Those were the fingers he used to study, to write, to build a new life for himself. I followed them after school. I used the techniques Ethan’s father had taught me, and I taught them a lesson. I got a few cuts and bruises myself, but it didn’t matter. I’m tough. I can take a punch. When I was heading upstairs, my bag slung over my shoulder, Ethan was waiting for me in the shadows. He pulled me into his apartment and expertly cleaned my wounds. It was the first time I’d been inside since his father died. His dad had been killed trying to stop a mugging. He could have easily handled the attackers, but one of them had a knife. The person he saved moved away overnight, disappearing without a trace. The attacker went to prison, but there was no money for compensation. At the funeral, Ethan knelt before the grave, his face blank. He said his father was a fool who got what he deserved for overestimating his own strength. He said the thing he hated most was people who used violence to solve their problems. From that day on, he stopped speaking to me. But that afternoon, as he gently bandaged my hand, his head bowed low, he spoke. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Leah, don’t fight anymore. Especially not for me.” 5 It had been a long time since Ethan had looked so defeated. He scrawled his name at the bottom of the document, threw the divorce papers on the floor, got dressed, and stormed out. I, on the other hand, had the best night’s sleep I’d had in ages. The next morning, I called a moving company. Ethan returned just as the movers were carrying a massive oil painting out the door. “What are you doing? Who told you to touch that?” He jumped out of his car and ran over, his face dark. The movers exchanged nervous glances. I walked out of the house. “I did. Is there a problem?” Ethan took a deep breath. “What are you trying to pull now?” “Isn’t that my painting?” Jennifer appeared, getting out of the passenger seat. “Ethan, you bought it for me? You should have told me! You’re so annoying.” Despite her words, her eyes were sparkling as she gazed at the canvas. Ethan stiffened, his eyes darting toward me. I offered a serene smile. “Actually, I’m the one who bought it.” “I must have been blind back then,” I continued, my voice dripping with scorn. “Spent almost thirty thousand dollars on this thing. The more I look at it now, the more it disgusts me.” It was during the toughest period of Ethan’s startup. He was working around the clock, but he still made time to take me to an art exhibit. I didn’t know much about art, but I saw him standing in front of that painting for a long time, looking at it with a deep, wistful longing. So I saved every penny I earned over the next year and bought it for him as a birthday present. We moved many times after that, each house bigger than the last, but that painting always came with us. I thought he cherished it because it was a gift from me. Then he went to Hong Kong and brought Jennifer back. One day, she was painting in the garden, and I saw her signature. It was identical to the one on the oil painting. Do you know what it feels like to have your entire world shatter into a million pieces? It’s hard to describe. I just remember crouching on the floor for a long time, my face pale, the taste of rust in my mouth from clenching my jaw. 6 My words clearly hit a nerve with Jennifer. She lunged forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ethan grabbed her arm, holding her back. Jennifer looked at him, incredulous. “You’re protecting her?” She yanked her arm free, her eyes red with fury, and spun around as if to run off. Ethan held on, but his voice softened. “Jennifer, stop. Go wait in the car. I’ll take you to meet Director Evans in a bit.” She pouted and shot me a glare, but she did as she was told. Ethan opened his mouth to speak. I looked at him with a half-smile. “Jennifer might not get it, but I do. You pretend to hold her back, but you’re really protecting her.” “But you don’t have to worry,” I added. “I won’t touch her. It’s not worth compromising myself for her sake.” For a moment, Ethan’s expression was rigid. But he was a master of composure, and he recovered quickly. “Don’t let your imagination run wild.” “With Jennifer… I’m just helping her out for old times’ sake.” “You don’t need to project your own dirty thoughts onto us.” Hypocrite. It was the only word that came to mind. I laughed coldly. “Is it that you don’t want to?” “No. It’s that you don’t deserve to.” Jennifer was a princess. When Ethan and I were living on five dollars a day, she wore hair clips that cost ten thousand dollars. We should have never even crossed paths with someone like her. But that year, she transferred to our high school for a semester. The arrogant, golden princess took one look at Ethan and decided she wanted him. “Hey, can I sit next to you?” “No.” “Can you help me with my homework?” “I don’t have time.” “Ethan, I like you.” “I don’t like you.” After being rejected repeatedly, the princess’s frustration turned to cruelty. She started targeting him. Spilling milk on his exam papers. Pouring a bowl of soup over his head. Mocking him for not being able to afford new shoes. Falsely accusing him of stealing her pen. Ethan told me to stay out of it, that he could handle it. But his grades were slipping. I took matters into my own hands. I found Jennifer and warned her to leave him alone, or she’d have to deal with me. Ethan was furious. He forced me to apologize to her and then carried her home on his back when she feigned an injury. “We can’t afford to make an enemy of her, Leah,” he told me later. “We just have to endure it. Endure it until we don’t have to answer to anyone.” I always thought he hated her. But people are complicated. There’s no such thing as pure love or pure hate. It’s always a tangled mess. 7 Ethan ignored the movers and went inside to grab some files. As he left, he tossed one last comment over his shoulder. “Do whatever you want.” So I did. I threw out the painting, the wedding photos, the master bedroom mattress, and even his entire wardrobe. A final truck hauled away the last of my belongings, and I was gone. That night, I slept on a makeshift bed on the floor of my new, still-unfurnished apartment. I stared at the ceiling until dawn before finally drifting off. When I woke up, I was in a properly made bed. I wasn’t surprised. I knew I hadn’t sleepwalked, and no burglar had broken in. Only one person could have found me here: Ethan. Sure enough, when I walked out of the bedroom, he was in the kitchen, cooking noodles. Ethan was a fast learner. In the years when we couldn’t afford takeout, he taught himself to cook. He could make anything taste good. I was the complete opposite. He never understood it. “Can’t you just follow the recipe? Why do you always have to improvise?” And I never understood him. “It’s just one green onion. What’s the big deal if we leave it out? Do you really have to go all the way to the store for it?” Those chaotic, messy days were full of life. But looking back, they feel like another lifetime. “You’re up? Brush your teeth, wash your face. Breakfast is ready.” I didn’t move. “The deed to this place is in my name. Don’t come here again.” The hand stirring the noodles froze. He turned off the stove, switched off the extractor fan, and turned to face me. “I can promise you,” he said, his voice low, “that Jennifer is not a threat to our marriage. You will always be Mrs. Cranston. What are you still not satisfied with?”
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