When she showed me the clothes she bought for $3.99, I couldn't help but look at her in disgust: "Can't you learn a thing or two from Vivian downstairs? Stop buying cheap junk!" She froze. After a long moment, her lips trembling, she said to me: "Let's get a divorce." Fine, let's get a divorce! With a $4,000 a month living allowance, I wasn't worried about finding someone willing to be with me. A month later, she didn't come crawling back to me. But as I calculated the mortgage, car insurance, and utility bills, I was the one who started to panic. 01 Hazel and I had been married for three years. I had provided for her for three years. Out of my $6,000 monthly salary, I transferred $4,000 to her on time every single month. The remaining $2,000 was my pocket money. So I honestly couldn't understand why she was so obsessed with buying cheap junk on Temu. A couple of days ago, she asked me to bring her packages up on my way home. There were a whopping eight packages, and I was juggling them clumsily. When I finally got into the apartment, she actually complained that I wasn't paying attention—she had texted me nine pickup codes. She stayed at home every day, just doing chores and watching the kid. How could she possibly need to buy so many things?! When I saw what she bought, my vision practically went dark. A 5-pack of underwear for $2.99, house slippers for $1.99, a 10-pack of tissues for $1.50, and two bottles of shampoo for $5.99. I specifically remembered telling her that cheap shampoo gives me dandruff and to buy me a name-brand one. But she stubbornly refused to listen. And now, she was furiously tapping away on her phone, arguing with a seller over a $1.99 box of 200 trash bags. Our son was sitting on the toilet, relentlessly yelling, "Mommy, come here! Mommy, come here!" But she kept her head down, counting the trash bags and waging a war of words with customer service. Was it really worth arguing over something that cost less than two bucks? "Hazel, the kid is calling you." I reminded her, forcing myself to be patient. In reality, my anger was about to blow the roof off. What was the difference between 150 bags and 200 bags?! It was making her neglect our own child! Hazel didn't even look up. "I'm a little busy right now. Can you go wipe his butt?" I was extremely reluctant. I was exhausted from working all day, just hoping to come home and relax for a bit. But my son's screaming was so piercing that I had no choice but to put my phone down and walk into the bathroom. I hadn't even started complaining about the smell yet. The little brat wiggled around on the toilet, complaining that the toilet paper I grabbed was too rough, demanding wet wipes instead. When I finally managed to dig out the wet wipes, he complained they were too cold and wanted them warmed up with hot water. I was furious. This kid was absolutely spoiled rotten by his mother. It was just wiping his butt, and he was being pickier than my corporate clients. I threw the wipes onto the counter and yelled at Hazel, who was still warring with the trash bag merchant— "Your son doesn't want me! Hurry up and come here!" The chaotic mess of the apartment was driving me insane. I said, "I'm out of cigarettes. I'm going downstairs to buy a pack." Hazel, who was rushing toward the bathroom, stopped in her tracks and looked at me. Her baggy, oversized T-shirt was covered in stains. Tsk, how did she get so ugly? She opened her mouth, seeming like she wanted to say something. It was undoubtedly going to be, "Smoking is bad for your health," "Smoke less," or "We should save that money to buy things for the kid." My ears were getting calluses from hearing it. I quickly dropped one last sentence: "I'll take the trash out by the door on my way down." 02 While I was smoking downstairs, I happened to run into my 8th-floor neighbor, Vivian Wright. She was rushing out in a panic and almost crashed right into me by the door. Seeing she was about to fall, I quickly reached out and caught her. She felt really soft. I couldn't help but think back to the first time I held Hazel's hand. It's a pity that holding Hazel's hand now felt exactly like my left hand holding my right hand. No spark whatsoever. "Oh, Arthur! I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Vivian blushed and apologized to me. I smiled, told her it was no problem, and asked her why she was in such a rush. Vivian said her floor drain was clogged, so she was going to find the property manager to take a look. I pocketed my cigarettes. "The management office is probably closed by now. If you're in a hurry, do you mind if I come up and take a look for you?" Vivian's apartment had the exact same layout as mine, but looking around, everything felt refreshingly clean and comfortable. There was no cheap, cluttered junk on the table; instead, there was a blooming bouquet of roses. Vibrant and fresh. You could tell at a glance she took meticulous care of her home. The bathroom had a diffuser that smelled elegant and inviting. The skincare products lined up on the vanity were all high-end brands I recognized. The entire apartment subtly revealed the sophisticated taste of its owner. The lighting outside had been dim, so it wasn't until now that I had a moment to properly look at Vivian. She was wearing a silk slip dress with a trench coat draped over it. Even though she hadn't heavily styled herself, it still showed off her excellent taste, and... her figure. I used my phone flashlight to look down the drain and found it was clogged with long hair. My mind flashed back to how Hazel dealt with drains. She usually asked me to hand her a disposable chopstick to fish the hair out. "Do you have any disposable chopsticks?" After using a chopstick to clear out the hair stuck in the pipe, the water flowed down much smoother. "Arthur, if it weren't for you, I really wouldn't have known what to do." I dusted off my hands, ignoring the ache in my lower back, and feigned a relaxed tone. "It might not be completely clear. I'll bring some drain cleaner over tomorrow to dissolve the rest, and it'll be good as new." "I couldn't trouble you like that! Just tell me the name of the brand, and I'll go buy it myself." Hazel handled all that stuff at home, how the hell was I supposed to know the brand name? But I obviously couldn't say that to Vivian. "It's no trouble, I have some at home. How can I let a lady deal with this? By the way, where is your husband?" Vivian frowned. "Him? He travels for work constantly. Whenever he leaves, he's gone for half a month." I felt a surge of smug pride. I was definitely a much better husband than hers. Having a husband around to help out should make Hazel secretly thrilled, yet she actually blamed me for missing a package code. "You've worked hard, Arthur. Come have some fruit." Vivian invited me to sit in the living room. The matching tea set held a clear, aromatic tea, and the cherries and strawberries in the fruit bowl looked plump and tempting. Taking a sip of tea and a bite of a cherry, I leaned back into the soft sofa and sighed in satisfaction. This was living. What kind of miserable life was I living with Hazel? I complimented Vivian on how clean and comfortable her place was. She blushed and said that since she was a stay-at-home wife, keeping the place spotless made it more comfortable to live in. I pretended to ask casually, "So, how much allowance does your husband give you?" Vivian froze, frowned in thought for a moment, and said, "About four thousand, maybe? I don't really keep track of the finances..." She sounded vague. I understood perfectly. Her husband probably gave her less than $4,000, and she was too embarrassed to admit it, so she kept it vague. 03 On my way home from work today, I saw a young girl selling roses on the street. Three stems for $5. I remembered the bouquet of roses I saw in Vivian's apartment. Bright and pleasing to the eye. I figured I'd bring a bouquet back for Hazel. Three stems looked incredibly pathetic, so I gritted my teeth and bought six for $10. I didn't even ask the girl for change. It hurt my wallet a little. This little trinket that women liked cost me half a pack of cigarettes. When I got home, Hazel was cooking in the kitchen. I walked over, wanting to surprise her: "Hazel, look what I bought you!" I expected to see stars in her eyes. Just like the way Vivian looked at me the other day. Hazel only glanced at it once before turning her head back to violently clanging her spatula in the pan. "Why did you buy these? You can't eat them, you can't wear them... what a waste of money." Before she could finish, I had already lost the patience to listen. I threw the flowers on the dining table and went straight to the bathroom. When I came out, Hazel was humming a little tune, arranging the roses. Unfortunately, she was clumsy and lacked any sense of romance. No matter how she arranged them, they didn't look nearly as good as Vivian's. But I wasn't planning on saying that out loud. Hearing my footsteps, she turned around and happily said to me, "Honey, look at my new shirt, $3.99! It's so soft and comfortable!" The pink T-shirt wasn't fitted at all, making Hazel look washed-out and bulky. Cheap Temu junk again! I felt insulted. I gave her $4,000 a month for living expenses, and she buys a $3.99 piece of trash to wear in front of me. It was the same $4,000. How come other men's wives dressed themselves up to look sophisticated and gorgeous, while my wife walked around every day looking like a starving peasant? My face instantly darkened. "Can you stop buying this cheap garbage? Look at what you're wearing! Is that a rag?" Hazel froze, instinctively taking two steps forward. "I thought it was pretty nice... Let's just eat first. Your mom picked up Leo today, so I made your favorite fried catfish." The overwhelming fishy smell radiating off her clothes made me want to gag. I took a step back. "What is nice about it?!" "You buy this trash every single day! Do I not give you enough money?!" I pointed at the garbage bags in the corner. "150 bags, 200 bags, who cares! You ignored your own kid over a few cents worth of trash bags! Hazel, I'm not trying to lecture you, but as a person, you shouldn't be so petty. Think bigger!" "And how many times have I told you to buy decent shampoo for the house? You buy the cheap stuff every time. How am I supposed to go meet clients looking like this?" "And $2.99 underwear! You actually dare to wear that? Aren't you afraid of getting an infection?" "Hazel, stop looking for ways to suffer when you don't have to! People who don't know any better would think I married a homeless beggar!" The more I spoke, the angrier I got. I wanted to smash all the low-quality junk in the house to pieces. Hazel stared at me blankly, her face full of disbelief. Her large eyes brimmed with tears. After venting all my frustrations in one breath, I felt much better. Even the ugly shirt on her looked slightly less offensive. I sighed internally, preparing to soothe her a bit. After all, Hazel still had plenty of good qualities. She never made me worry about any of the household chores. I cleared my throat and softened my tone. "Hazel, can't you learn a thing or two from Vivian downstairs? Stop buying cheap junk." Hazel trembled all over. Afraid she was going to start a fight with me again, I quickly added, "What I mean is, life should have a little romance, right? You should put some effort into dressing up instead of looking like an old, worn-out housewife all day." As soon as the words left my mouth. Hazel suddenly burst into loud laughter. I honestly worried she had gone crazy. "Hahahaha, Arthur Bennett, do you really think it's because I don't want to dress up? Stop flattering yourself!" She looked me dead in the eye, her lips quivering: "Let's get a divorce." 04 "What?" I asked in sheer disbelief. "I said, we are getting a divorce." This was the biggest joke of the century. Married for three years, she relied entirely on me to survive. And she actually had the guts to bring up divorce. She had no house, no car, no job. If she left me, she probably wouldn't even be able to afford a meal. I found it hilarious. "You want a divorce?" "Yes, a divorce!" She said it with absolute certainty. I laughed out of sheer anger. "Fine. We'll go tomorrow." I thought she would chicken out. I thought she would apologize and say she was just confused for a moment. But she didn't. She looked at me calmly and spat out one sentence— "Whoever doesn't go is a cowardly bastard." Whoever is a bastard, it certainly wouldn't be me! If it wasn't for the fact that she gave birth to my son, I wouldn't even be willing to support her anymore. Worn-out housewife. I was completely different. I was young, I owned a house, a car, and had a stable job. Willing to dish out a $4,000 monthly allowance, why would I ever worry about finding a beautiful woman who knew how to live nicely, just like Vivian? I sneered at Hazel, who had sat down in silence to eat. "Don't forget, we are going first thing tomorrow morning." "Whoever backs out is a bastard!" Hazel didn't answer. She picked up a piece of catfish with her fork and shoveled a huge bite of rice into her mouth. Even the way she ate looked like a starving ghost reincarnated. Utterly low-class. I scoffed, turned around, and walked out the door. I planned to call some friends out for drinks, but unexpectedly ran into Vivian in the elevator. "Arthur, what a coincidence! Have you eaten yet?" "N-no, not yet. Sorry about the drain cleaner, I forgot to bring it down to you." Vivian smiled sweetly. "Oh, it's no big deal. I haven't eaten either." I quickly said, "I heard a new buffet opened nearby. Do you want to go try it out together?" Inside the restaurant, Vivian, wearing a flowing maxi dress, walked over with a plate, looking stunningly beautiful. But her plate only held a tiny bit of meat, a salad, and two pieces of pudding. I couldn't help but advise her: "Vivian, this is a $50 buffet! Don't be shy, what's so good about pudding? Go get some seafood!" She pressed her lips together slightly. "This is already quite a lot. I heard their pudding is really good." Watching her elegantly take small bites of her salad, I couldn't help but mentally complain about Hazel. When she first got pregnant, we went to a buffet together. Her plates were piled sky-high, and food was shoveled into her stomach like a conveyer belt. Hazel even secretly unbuttoned her pants just so she could eat more. I had originally planned to bring Hazel to this exact $50 buffet for our fourth anniversary. Too bad she didn't have the blessing to enjoy it, insisting on divorcing me. Now someone else was getting the treat. But for someone like Hazel, it was pearls before swine anyway. 05 At exactly eight o'clock the next morning, I stood at the bedroom door and yelled for Hazel. "Are you ready yet? Or are you planning on being a cowardly bastard..." I was already eagerly anticipating my beautiful future bachelor life. Before I could finish, Hazel opened the door. She was wearing a black tailored skirt suit, with powder on her face and lipstick. It made my eyes light up. I hadn't seen her dressed up in a very long time. See, I was right. Women need to put effort into dressing up so men find them pleasing to look at. The elevator stopped on the 8th floor, and Vivian walked in wearing a tight yoga outfit. "Morning. This must be your wife, I don't think we've met." Vivian smiled and greeted us. Hazel kept her head down, looking at her phone, and didn't say a word. I felt a surge of irritation. Someone was actively greeting her, and she was throwing a petty tantrum! "What wife? We're getting divorced in a few minutes." I glared at Hazel. Vivian gave an awkward smile and stopped talking. Standing next to Vivian, Hazel's black suit squeezed tight against her belly bulge. The leather on her purse was peeling, her black heels were a style from years ago, and her lipstick color was way too bright. The baby pink was totally washing her out, making her look tacky. It gave off a feeling of someone trying way too hard and looking cheap. That fleeting moment of brightness I felt earlier vanished instantly. At the County Clerk's office, the clerk didn't even look up as she asked: "Are you both filing for this divorce voluntarily?" I nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes." She looked at the silent Hazel: "And you? Are you doing this voluntarily?" "Yes." "Alright, let me see the divorce settlement agreement." I panicked. "We're voluntarily getting divorced, why do we need an agreement?" Hazel pulled a document out of her peeling purse and handed it over. "Here it is. It's already signed." The clerk read it: "Both parties are divorcing due to irreconcilable differences. The child goes to the wife, the house and car go to the husband, and current savings are split evenly, correct?" I immediately shouted, "I don't agree to giving her our son!" The clerk frowned. "What are you yelling for? You signed and dated this right here." Last night, after eating at the buffet, I passed by a hardware store and bought the most expensive drain cleaner, intending to fulfill my promise to Vivian. Then we started drinking and chatting, and before I knew it, I had drank too much. When I got home, Hazel handed me a document. I saw the words "Divorce Agreement" at the top and signed it without even thinking. I never expected this woman to be so calculating... But in a flash of lightning, my thoughts shifted. If Hazel wants the kid, let her take him! Without having to raise a kid, wouldn't my life be even more luxurious? I could use that $4,000 to find a beautiful, elegant girlfriend. I'll just buy my son some toys and snacks every now and then. He's my flesh and blood, it's not like he won't acknowledge me as his dad. Thinking of this, I quickly told the clerk, "I was just confused for a second. I agree to the settlement." Who knew that even with a mutual agreement, we still had to go back and wait out a 30-day cooling-off period. I felt anxious. What if Hazel came to her senses and didn't want to divorce me anymore? After all, she got to sit around doing nothing all month and take a free $4,000 allowance. But I refused to be dragged down by extra baggage! 06 Coming out of the courthouse, Hazel followed me toward the parking lot. I blocked her path. "We are divorced now. Even though there's still a final step, it's basically done. The car belongs to me. If you want a ride, you have to pay gas money." There was no way I was letting this worn-out housewife ride in my car for free. I thought Hazel would be angry, that she would yell at me, that she would be heartbroken and sad. She just gave me a calm look, turned around, and walked toward the bus stop. Pierced by that look, an inexplicable fire flared up in my chest. What was she acting so high and mighty for? Just wait until she comes crawling back begging to remarry! I went to the supermarket and bought the most expensive electric razor, high-end shampoo, liquor I usually couldn't bear to buy, and premium fruits like cherries and strawberries, filling several large bags to the brim. When I get back, I'm going to make Hazel die of jealousy! Let's see her insist on divorcing me then! Wait, the house belongs to me now. I can't let her stay here anymore. It's best to make her take all the cheap junk she bought and leave. I don't want her ruining my high-quality lifestyle. When I got home, Hazel was packing. She didn't have much luggage. Even after she finished packing, the apartment didn't look noticeably emptier. I sat on the sofa with my legs crossed, eating sweet cherries. "By the way, don't forget to take all that cheap trash you bought with you. Filling a $450,000 house with dollar-store garbage... you're really something!" Hazel was left speechless by my words and packed her things in silence. I chewed on a strawberry. "Where are you going to live? Need me to drive you?" "No need." "Leo can stay with my mom for now. You can pick him up after you find a place. Otherwise, it's going to be really hard for a single woman like you. "It really is a pity. I originally planned to add your name to the deed once our son got a little older. We could have been a happy family. "Hey, I'm telling you, premium fruit is expensive for a reason. It really tastes amazing. Want to try some? In case you can never afford it again..." "Arthur Bennett!" Hazel loudly cut me off. "Don't forget that I used to be able to afford my own cherries!" With that, the front door slammed shut. I froze for a moment. Hazel and I met on a blind date. Back then, she had a stable, respectable job with a great income, but her family was pressuring her hard to get married. When she got pregnant, the doctor said she showed signs of a threatened miscarriage and needed bed rest. She was forced to quit her job to stay home and protect the baby. Back then, she truly was radiant. But so what? The modern era moves so fast. She's a stay-at-home mom who hasn't been in the workforce for three years, and her figure is completely out of shape. I refused to believe she had any skills left. Plus, she was already 33 years old. Besides me, no one else would want her. After Hazel left, I ordered the greasy, spicy takeout she usually never let me eat. I sat on the sofa in my street clothes, eating and watching TV. I drank bottle after bottle of beer and flicked my cigarette ashes right into my empty food containers. These were all things Hazel never let me do before. I have to say, the bachelor life was absolute paradise.
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