In college, I was the most popular girl on campus, and I fell in love with a boy in worn-out Converse. For the twelve years of our marriage, we were the couple everyone looked up to, the one our friends called “goals.” I supported him every step of the way, from a broke kid with a dream to a CEO with a seven-figure income. Lately, however, I’d discovered he was in love with a forty-year-old receptionist at his company. When I asked my husband about it, he just said, “Let’s get a divorce.” He blamed me. Said that while I had fulfilled his physical needs, I had neglected his spiritual world, that I was too focused on our child. Excuse me? Was he a three-year-old? Did he need to be breastfed? A grown man in his thirties was coming to me for his “spiritual needs”? And what about my spiritual needs? Who was supposed to fulfill those? Should I go out and find some old boy toy to keep me company? It’s true what they say: when a man is starving, he’ll eat anything. Fine. Divorce it is. 1 When Leo saw the divorce papers on his desk, he didn’t say a word. The terms were simple: the house, the cars, and our son all went to me. He would pay me a one-time settlement of twenty million dollars for alimony and child support. After that, we would not contact each other again. He was in the middle of a conference call. He glanced down, and I saw his expression flicker for a fraction of a second at the words “Divorce Agreement.” He then gave a slight nod, acknowledging he’d seen it. I left his home office and closed the door. To save us both time, I began packing all of his clothes and belongings. It took three large suitcases. Not wanting to miss anything, I even went up to the attic and found a box of his childhood photos to put inside. The last thing I saw was our wedding photo, tucked away in a corner. In it, Leo was impossibly handsome, and my smile was radiant. We were wrapped in each other’s arms, bathed in sunlight. I could almost hear his voice, a constant whisper in my ear back then: “I love you so much, Stella.” “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” I met Leo in college. When we met, he was a scholarship kid in frayed jeans and tattered sneakers. Plenty of guys were after me back then, but I only had eyes for him. He was calm, kind, and beautiful. He had a quiet strength I admired. We got married right after graduation. He started a company with a friend, and after I got pregnant, I became a full-time mother. I poured everything I had into taking care of Leo, our son, and our home. As the business grew, so did Leo’s networking dinners and late nights. I carved out time between school runs and household chores to stay in shape, to learn about makeup and fashion. And Leo, to his credit, was a model husband. No matter how busy he was, he always came home and helped with our son, helped with dinner, and always took my side in any disagreement with his mother. To the outside world, we were the perfect couple. I don’t know when it started, but slowly, the meetings began to shift to the evenings. Sometimes, he’d pull an all-nighter at the office. A friend once joked that I should keep a closer eye on him. I laughed it off, but a seed of doubt had been planted. A few times, I brought late-night food to the office for him and his team. There was never anything out of the ordinary. Just a group of people in a conference room, working late. And the receptionist would be there, waiting quietly at her desk. Her name was Diane. She was in her forties, not very tall, thin, with short, unassuming hair. But her voice was gentle, almost melodic, a stark contrast to her plain appearance. She always smiled and greeted me warmly. For years, I had braced myself for the possibility of this day. I’d imagined a beautiful young assistant, a bright-eyed intern, or a sharp, powerful female executive he worked with. I had never, not once, considered the receptionist. I’d heard she was divorced; her husband had cheated on her. This was her first job in years, and she was grateful for it. She came in early, memorized everyone’s coffee order, and occasionally brought in homemade pastries. Some of the employees even paid her to make their lunch every day. When I heard about it, I’d told Leo that she must be struggling and that he should look out for her. He’d been dismissive. “The office isn’t a charity, Stella. I’ve already told her to stop conducting personal business at work.” At the time, I’d teased him for being a heartless CEO. Looking back now, he was probably just upset that Diane had to go home and cook for his employees after a long day. As for why Leo chose today to ask for a divorce… it was because I made him his usual hangover remedy this morning. He’d stared at the bowl, sighed, and pushed it slightly away. After a long silence, he looked up at me, his eyes full of exhaustion, and asked if we could get a divorce. He confessed everything. The affair had been going on for six months. Every time he said he was working late, he was really sneaking away to a hotel with her. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I fought to keep my voice steady. I asked him who it was. When he said Diane’s name, I thought I’d misheard him. A wave of profound powerlessness washed over me. I felt so cold. 2 By the time Leo finished his call and came out of the office, I had finished dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and was sitting on the sofa, watching a TV show. As if nothing had happened. He went to take a shower. Halfway through, I heard him call out instinctively. “Stella, where’s my towel?” I didn’t turn around. “I packed it. You can use mine if you want. I’ll just throw it out after you’re done.” The only response was a long, heavy silence. When Leo came out, he finally saw the three suitcases by the front door. He sat down across from me and pushed the divorce agreement back in my direction. “For the child support, I can give you fifteen million now, and the rest in monthly…” I cut him off. “No. A one-time payment. A clean break.” I met his gaze. “I don’t imagine she would want you to have any more contact with me.” He looked confused. “He’s not just your son, Stella. I have a right to be a part of his life. I know this is my fault, and I’m willing to compensate you, but you don’t need to use our son to punish me.” I paused the show and looked at him, my expression serious. “Cheating was your mistake. Paying alimony and child support is the legal and moral consequence. Considering your assets, taking the house and cars is hardly asking for too much.” “As for our son, I am the one who has raised him since the day he was born. He is a highly sensitive child who needs consistency and attention. Tell me, Leo, between your work and your new romance, how much energy do you honestly have to give him? Being a part of his life is about more than money. It’s about time.” He was speechless. Finally, he said, “I’m not paying twenty million dollars to be cut out of my son’s life.” I opened the document. “The twenty million is alimony and child support. If you wish to provide additional emotional support, you can transfer funds directly to our son’s account. I’ll set one up for him.” Leo suddenly laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “You know, Stella, I never realized how much you loved money. It’s all you can talk about.” “What else is there to talk about? Is loving you worth anything anymore?” That shut him up. His face hardened. He took a pen and signed the papers with a sharp, angry stroke, then scheduled a time for us to go to the courthouse tomorrow. He called his driver to pick him up. I finished my show and went to bed. When I woke up, Leo was gone. My son ran out of his room and hugged me, chattering excitedly about a happy dream he’d had. As I listened, I gently told him that Daddy was very busy at work and might have to be away on a business trip for a long time. Normally, he would whine and ask to call Leo, demanding to know when he was coming home. This time, he just said, “Oh.” He thought for a moment. “That’s okay. As long as I have you, Mommy.” That’s when I broke. Tears streamed down my face. I made an excuse and ran to the bathroom to compose myself. The deepest pain of this divorce wasn’t the betrayal; it was the guilt of not being able to give my son a complete family. But I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was not my fault. I dropped my son off at school, then met Leo at the courthouse. We filed the initial paperwork. There was a mandatory 30-day cooling-off period. After that, it would be final. Back in my car, I circled the date on my calendar. Divorce countdown: 30 days. 3 I debated whether to tell my parents. I had grown up in this city; all our friends and family were here. My parents were retired teachers, and I was their only child. They were open-minded, but my father’s health had been poor the last couple of years. I decided to wait. Two days later, Leo called me. He rarely called; he preferred to text because I always replied immediately. I had deleted and blocked his number last night. I answered. His voice was casual, as if nothing had changed. “Stella, your mom just called me. She’s made a big dinner and wants us to come over tonight.” He paused. “I know your dad isn’t well. I think… maybe we should wait to tell them about the divorce, until he’s stronger. What time should we go?” He added, “And his birthday is next Sunday. I should probably go with you to that, too.” Any hesitation I had about telling them vanished. “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “You don’t have to be stubborn about this, Stella. Their health is what’s important.” My voice was flat. “If you really cared about my father’s health, you wouldn’t have chosen this moment to cheat on me and end our marriage. My father may be unwell, but his mind is sharp. I don’t think he’d want me to stay in a marriage with a man who is unfaithful.” “Leo.” “Yes?” “Don’t call me again. If you want to see our son, follow the agreement. Once a week.” His tone shifted, the pretense of negotiation gone. “Stella, I’ll say it again. He is my son, too. My family…” “But you’re the one who abandoned his family, aren’t you?” I heard him slam something down on his desk on the other end. I hung up and took a moment to pull myself together. Then, I drove to the mall. I was going to replace everything in the house that he liked—the bedding, the sofa, all of it. And I wanted it delivered today. After the new furniture arrived, I cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. Then, I went to my parents’ place. When my mom saw me arrive alone, she assumed Leo was busy. I was silent for a moment, then my voice came out as a quiet, nervous, “Mom.” She immediately knew something was wrong. She stopped what she was doing, looked at me for a long moment, and then simply pulled me into her arms. I didn’t have to say a word. She could feel my pain. I told her everything, my voice as steady as I could make it. When I was done, she handed me a tissue. Her voice was soft. “It’s okay. Divorce is common these days. He was the one who was unfaithful. It’s better to know now. It’s over.” She took my hand, her eyes glistening. “Stella, I only ask one thing of you.” “Once this is done, no matter what happens, you never, ever go back to him.” “I promise,” I sobbed. Later, my mom and dad talked in their room for a long time. When my dad came out, he handed me a large check. He said today was a new beginning, worthy of a celebration. “I hope my baby girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “will be happy and free, always.” I cried in my car for a long time after leaving their house. I had been so afraid of disappointing them. They had been married for forty years and barely ever argued. When I chose to marry Leo, a boy with nothing, they had respected my decision. Now that he was a success and everyone envied me, they were supporting my decision to leave him. I wiped my tears and looked at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 28 days. 4 When I picked my son up from school, he told me that Grandpa had called and invited him to stay over for a week. He was so excited; they had made a plan to fly a new drone together. After dropping him off, my mom walked me back to my car. “Go out, Stella. Have some fun. Be happy.” She stood on the curb, watching me until I drove away. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My face was pale, my eyes were dull. I took out my makeup bag and put on a bright, defiant red lipstick. I went home, packed a bag, and went on a road trip for a week. I saw new places, met new people, and listened to their stories. When I came back, I felt like myself again. I looked at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 21 days. It was time for my father’s birthday party. They had booked a room at a hotel and invited a few tables of our closest friends and family. Many of them asked where Leo was. My parents deflected the questions. Just before dinner, my father stood up to give a toast. At that exact moment, Leo walked in. He was impeccably dressed, carrying several expensive-looking gift bags and a thick envelope. Our relatives greeted him warmly. He waited for my father to finish his speech, then walked over. “Dad,” he said, handing him the envelope. “Happy birthday.” 5 My father glanced at him, his expression neutral. “Mr. Chen, you’re too kind. But we can’t accept this. After all, you and Stella are divorced now. We wouldn’t want to impose.” Leo’s smile froze on his face. The room, which had been buzzing with chatter, fell completely silent. His voice was barely a whisper. “We’re still in the process…” My father shook his head. “It’s the same thing.” He turned and began to greet other guests. Leo stood there, frozen. My mother politely took the gift bags and handed them back to him. He didn’t stay. After he left, no one mentioned his name again. It was a relief. I was healing, accepting, and slowly shedding the identity of “Mrs. Chen.” I was becoming Stella again. Even the staff in my apartment building, having heard the news from somewhere, started calling me Ms. Lin instead of Mrs. Chen. I decided I needed to get busy. I was going to open a coffee shop. I found a place that was for sale, already beautifully renovated and in a great location. I signed the lease immediately. The staff agreed to stay on, so I could keep the doors open while I spent some time refining the menu and rebranding. I spent the whole day at the shop, planning. As I got in my car to head home, I glanced at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 15 days.
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