Three years into our marriage, Flora brought home a college sophomore. Before I could even process the insult, she pushed a young, wide-eyed girl into my path. "I need a little excitement, Alex, and you need company," she said smoothly, as if simply handing over an old coat. "We’re both getting what we want. Don’t hold a grudge." But this time, she flew too close to the sun. She came to me later, her tone uncharacteristically pleading, trying to strike a deal: "Alex, I wasn’t careful. I took precautions, but... I ended up pregnant with Dustin’s baby. The child needs a father on paper. We need to divorce. Just temporarily." "I’ll marry Dustin for now, and you can spend this time with that college girl. Treat it like a real relationship. Go date." Behind closed doors, her friends gossiped. "Flora, you literally crawled up ninety-nine stone steps of the basilica on your knees to pray for this man’s life. Are you really being this generous now?" "Right? You didn't even warn that girl to keep her hands off your husband?" I heard Flora laugh, a light, careless sound. "I don’t have a sharing fetish," she said. "But you all know Alex. He’s an emotional purist. He won’t touch her." "Brilliant! You bring the girl right to his face. If he chooses to live like a monk, that’s his own fault. No one can blame you." They all expected me to do what I had always done—write a check, call security, and sweep her flings out the door. Instead, I looked up and smiled. "Sure," I said. "I’ll date her." 1 Flora froze. The living room fell into a sudden, suffocating silence. Whitney was the first to find her voice. "Alex, what did you just say?" I set my phone on the coffee table, letting my gaze sweep past Flora’s stunned face before settling on the girl standing quietly by the door. "I said, fine." A collective gasp echoed through the room. "He actually agreed?!" "No way. He’s not kicking her out?" "Flora, did you hear that?" Flora’s expression barely shifted. That faint, mocking curve of her lips remained perfectly intact. But Dustin, standing beside her, nervously squeezed her hand. "Flora, he’s finally seeing reason. You should be happy." Flora didn’t answer him. She walked over to Iris, patted her shoulder, and said, "Take good care of him." Then, she and Dustin went upstairs. I looked back at the girl. Her ears were flushed crimson. "Are you staying in the dorms, or here?" Her throat clicked as she swallowed. "Either... either is fine." "Then stay here." I turned and walked toward the hallway. Behind me, the hushed murmurs started up again. "Is he serious?" "Usually, when this happens, we all get dragged into the blowout!" "Oh, please. Trust Flora. When has he not thrown a check at them? It’s like touching them would rot his hands." "Remember that art-school dropout? Alex didn’t even give him money. Just had security throw him into the street." "He’s probably just acting out because Flora’s pregnant. Trying to make her jealous." I kept walking. Their words were like needles in my back, but they weren’t wrong. I used to be insufferable. Too proud, too self-righteous, believing that my "emotional purity" could somehow protect the sacredness of our vows. Every time Flora brought someone home, I would coldly hand over a check and banish them. I thought that was winning. I thought it kept me clean. And where did that leave me? With Dustin’s baby on the way. My pristine principles had bought me a stack of divorce papers, a cold bed, and a living room full of people waiting to watch me break. At the door of the guest room, I stopped and leaned against the frame. I looked at Iris. Five-foot-six. Champion of the international mock trial team, top of her class, guaranteed federal clerkship. Flora had spent real money this time. This wasn’t some desperate kid she’d picked up from a dive bar. "Are you doing this for the money?" I asked. She nodded. No hesitation. No defenses. My old self would have sneered, thrown a check, and told her to get lost. How grand I must have looked then, perched on my moral high ground, treating these girls like toxic waste. But the "toxic waste" left, and Flora never came back. And honestly, who among us was truly clean? "If you need anything, let the housekeeper know," I said, stepping inside. She followed me. "I’m Iris." "I know," I replied without turning. "Flora told me." I walked out onto the balcony. Below, the guests were finally leaving, their cars winding down the driveway. I had lost count of how many of my humiliations they had cheered for. Back in my room, I glanced at the divorce agreement on the nightstand. For three years, I had turned a blind eye to her wild behavior. It started after "that" incident—the one that fractured us beyond repair. She had her reasons, and I had mine. But debts have to be paid. At first, I told her: "Just don't bring them to our house." Then I said: "Just don't cross the line." Step by step, I retreated. Step by step, she pushed. Now, since we were both exhausted by this marriage, there was no point in hesitating. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Iris emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp. Seeing me, her ears instantly turned bright pink. "I... I’m done," she whispered. I stood up, momentarily struck by how easily she blushed. Flora’s previous choices had always looked at me with defiance when I kicked them out. One had even yelled: "Are you two psychopaths? One pushes us in, the other kicks us out! What do you think we are?" At the time, I had only stared coldly: "Take the money and shut up." Now, I realized she was right. We were both sick. One with a twisted need to push me away, the other with a pathological need to remain untouched. My phone buzzed. A text from Flora: "Sleep early." It was hilarious. She never sent texts like that. Why now? Because I let Iris stay? Because she finally realized that the Alex who "would never touch them" might actually cross the line? I didn’t reply. The lights across the estate went out, plunging the villa into silence. Dustin had moved in. Iris had moved in. This house had finally become what it always was: a dumpster where we threw all our garbage. Myself included. I turned off the light, a bitter smile tracing my lips in the dark. She thought I was still the same Alex. Thought I wouldn't dare. Thought I couldn't. Thought I would be clean forever. She was wrong. The next morning, the dull ache in my neck lingered. When I went downstairs, Iris was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. When she saw me, she nearly dropped the spatula. I smiled. Where was the shy girl from last night? As soon as I sat down, Flora came down the stairs. "Up so early?" She took the seat opposite me, a strange, unreadable smile on her face. "How was last night?" Before I could answer, the front door burst open. Whitney rushed in. "Flora, Flora! Who won—" "I bet twenty grand he wouldn’t last until noon!" "I bet he kicked her out last night. Three-to-one odds, Flora’s bookmaking—" The words died in her throat. They saw me, and their excitement instantly curdled into awkwardness. "Oh... Alex! Morning!" Flora took a sip of her coffee. She looked at them as if this bet wasn’t about her own marriage, but some hard-won trophy. "Have a seat," I said calmly. "Breakfast is ready." I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. "You should head to class," I told Iris. Iris blinked, startled, then quickly untied her apron and hurried out. The door clicked shut, and the room went silent for two beats. Whitney lowered her voice. "See? He sent her away after all!" Todd laughed. "What did you expect? Flora has Alex mapped out perfectly." "Flora really knows how to train them," Whitney said, her tone dripping with admiration. "That’s the kind of husband you want. Keeps the house, guards the door, never strays." Flora sat at the table, her plate clean. Listening to them, her lips curved with quiet satisfaction. I let out a breath and walked back into the dining room. Flora and I spoke at the exact same moment. "Accompany me back to the family estate for dinner tonight..." "See you at the clerk’s office at two p.m. for the divorce..." The room went dead quiet. I slid the signed divorce agreement across the table. "Let’s get this over with first." Flora froze, her eyes scanning the signature line. She didn’t move. I knew what she was thinking. In the past, I would have torn the paper to shreds with tears in my eyes, asking how she could do this to me. It would have been a massive, dramatic production. Flora looked up at me, her tone reverting to that lazy, casual drawl. "What’s the rush? I’m not even in a hurry." "I am," I said. "Two p.m. Are you showing up?" Her eye twitched. "Alex," she said, pushing the agreement back toward the center of the table. "Are you out of your mind?" "I’d rather do it now," I replied, "before I wake up and regret not tearing it up." The tension stretched thin. Suddenly, Dustin came down the stairs. "Alex, please don’t be angry. I just didn’t want my baby to be born with a stigma. We can wait to finalize the divorce until after the baby is born and registered." His eyes welled with tears, looking far more devastated about my divorce than I was. Flora shot a look at Dustin. The phrase "don’t be angry" seemed to prick her pride. When had Flora ever been rushed into anything by anyone? "Alex, you think I’m afraid to sign?" she laughed coldly, grabbing the pen. Whitney panicked. "Flora—" "Shut up," Flora snapped, not even looking up. She signed her name with a sharp flourish and threw the pen onto the table. Her signature smirk returned. "I keep my word. And everyone here is a witness." "Once Dustin and I have the baby, we’ll remarry." She stood up and leaned down to whisper in my ear, her voice carrying a suffocating, possessive warmth. "You’re the man I dragged back from the edge of the grave, Alex. None of those cheap flings could ever compare to you. This baby? You’ll raise it. You’re the only one worthy of being its father, understand?" I let out a soft laugh. So this was her version of love. I said nothing, grabbed my packed suitcase, and walked out the front door. Behind me, Dustin’s voice floated out. "Flora... do you think he’s really not coming back?" She didn’t answer. In her plan, I was supposed to divorce her but stay in the house. The estate was still my home. My actual departure had caught her off guard. But she didn’t think it changed anything. "Oh, please," she told Dustin. "He’s gone. You should be thrilled." "No, I’m not!" Dustin whimpered. "My upbringing wouldn't allow me to break up a marriage... it’s all for the baby." He looked like a fragile reed bending in the wind. It instantly melted Flora’s annoyance. "Alright, stop crying. I’m not teasing you." Dustin was far smarter than her previous flings. He didn’t provoke me, didn’t call to flaunt his position. He simply adopted an "I’m here to join the family" posture. The moment I said anything harsh, Flora would think he was being victimized. I had seen younger, more handsome, more charismatic boys. But they were always too impatient, demanding she choose, demanding I leave. Only Dustin was patient. He moved in quietly, carrying a baby, calling me "brother" like he was family. He had achieved what none of the others could. At 1:50 p.m., I sat on the bench outside the clerk’s office. I called Flora for the ninth time. This time, she picked up. "Where are you?" I asked. Her voice was distracted. "I’m at Dustin’s prenatal appointment. I can’t leave. Wait for me, I’ll head over when we’re done." "I told you, our appointment is at two." "The divorce isn’t going anywhere," she said, as if soothing a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Wait until I’m finished. Bye." Wait. Always waiting. I watched the couples passing through the lobby. Some were crying, some were numb. I used to cry like that, tearing my heart out, until her guilt would offer me the "reward" of staying married. But today, that wasn’t the reward I wanted. The clerk called the next number. I pulled up my lawyer’s contact and sent a text: "Mr. Warren, let’s file for a contested divorce. I’ll send you the paperwork this afternoon." That evening, at my father-in-law’s insistence, I returned to the family estate. The entire drive, I wondered how to explain it to Thomas. Should I tell him his daughter got another man pregnant? That she forced me into a divorce? Or that I was suing her? Family obligations are often far more exhausting than lawsuits. When I arrived, I was alone. Thomas frowned. "Where is Flora?" "She’s busy," I said. "Busy?" He slammed his fork onto the table. "What could be more important than her husband?" I remained silent. Thomas and my father had been brothers-in-arms, surviving combat together. He had always wanted our families joined. But Flora’s mother, Lydia, had fought it. She looked down on my family’s modest background, and after my severe illness, she claimed my constitution was too weak. It was Flora who refused to let go. She had gone to St. Jude’s Basilica on the hill, kneeling on every single one of the ninety-nine stone steps leading to the altar. Ninety-nine steps. Her knees were torn to shreds. She had prayed: "I don't need to be with him. Just let him live." When I found out, I broke down. In our relationship, she had always been the fierce one, while I watched from the shadows of my own insecurity. But after that, I held her hand and said, "I won't hide anymore. If you have the courage to marry me, I have the courage to stand by you." Miraculously, my health improved. The day I finally went home with her, Thomas was so thrilled he transferred a third of his stock options to my name as a safety net, to give me standing within the family. Back then, I thought Lydia was our biggest hurdle. Now I knew that outsiders could never destroy a marriage. Only the people inside could do that. Before I could find the words to explain, the heavy oak doors opened. Flora walked in, her arm wrapped around Dustin. She froze when she saw me. Thomas’s face darkened. "What is this trash doing in my house?" Flora guided Dustin to a chair, her tone breezy. "Dad, it’s just dinner. Don’t make a scene." Then she glanced at me. "Alex, go home for tonight." Sensing my stillness, she leaned in and whispered, "I didn’t think you’d actually show up. Today is his turn, okay?" I let out a quiet laugh. His turn. She was parading her new man, bringing him home before our divorce was even dry. Lydia came downstairs, her eyes skating over me before landing on Dustin. "Is this the new one? Our family certainly has a habit of attracting low-class grifters." With one sentence, she insulted us both. Years ago, Flora would have stood in front of me and declared, "Alex is my choice." But today, she frowned and pulled Dustin closer. "Mom, don’t talk about my man like that." Dustin’s eyes brimmed with tears. He always looked like the victim of a cruel world. I stood up, thoroughly exhausted. "I’m leaving." Thomas couldn’t stop me. Flora didn’t look back. As I stepped out into the cold night, I thought of those ninety-nine steps. "I don’t need to be with him, just let him live." Well, she got her wish. The divorce went smoother than expected. Flora believed that once the baby arrived and we remarried, everything would slide back into its comfortable groove. On the day we signed the mediation agreement, she was forty minutes late, signing her name with a casual shrug. She leaned close, her tone uncharacteristically sweet. "Didn’t you always want a real wedding?" "Once we remarry, I’ll plan it myself. The island you wanted, the custom suit, everything." I looked at her. "Flora, there’s no need." She paused, then smiled. "I know you think we’re past all that, but I owe you a wedding. I want to make it right." I shook my head. "In a week, you..." Before I could finish, her phone blared. She answered it, her face going pale. "His stomach hurts? I’ll be right there!" She took two steps, then turned back to me. "I know our legal marriage ends in a week when the papers clear, but that’s just a piece of paper. The court has the papers, but you belong to me. They’re separate things." She patted my shoulder and ran out. I stood alone in the hallway, finishing the sentence she had cut off. "...In a week, you’ll receive much more than just a divorce decree." The day the decree arrived at the family estate, Thomas summoned her home with a furious phone call. "I don’t care how you do it, get Alex back here right now. I have things to say to him." "After that, if you still want to destroy your life, I won’t stop you!" Flora frowned. She didn’t know what her father wanted to say, but she knew how absurd this divorce actually was. For the past week, her phone had been dead silent. No texts from me, no missed calls. She claimed she didn’t care, but the emptiness was beginning to gnaw at her. She had never gone a full week without speaking to her husband. She needed an excuse to reach out, and her father had just handed her one. "Fine, fine," she mumbled, pulling up my contact card. "He’s being ridiculous. I’ll call him." She complained, but her fingers moved faster than they ever had. She pressed call. She cleared her throat, rehearsing her opening line. "Alex, my dad wants you at the estate." Or: "Are you done throwing your tantrum? It’s been a week, get back home." The call connected. But the voice on the other end wasn’t mine. "Hello? The groom is currently adjusting his tie. Are you a guest of the groom’s family?"
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