Chapter 3

Everyone thought I was with Vivian for her money.

But in reality, she held all my cards. She claimed her personal funds were tied up in the company, so for years, all our expenses and my side-hustle income went towards our shared life.

I believed a man should contribute more to the family, so I never argued with her about it.

It wasn't until recently that I realized, despite my high income, I never seemed to save a dime, always feeling like I was running short.

I couldn't help but check my bank statements. That's when I discovered Vivian regularly used my card to buy gifts for Julian.

She'd bought him a gaming console worth hundreds, a suit costing thousands, and even shelled out tens of thousands to book a five-star hotel for his birthday.

Yet, for years, she wouldn't even spring for new underwear for me after two months. Anything over a hundred dollars, she'd fuss about it being too expensive, opting instead to give me a handwritten card, saying she wanted to save money for our future.

I couldn't help but confront her about it. Vivian's face darkened. She accused me of not trusting her, then gave me the silent treatment, vowing never to use my money again.

Thinking about that, I still called Vivian.

I tried more than a dozen times, but she didn't pick up.

Seeing this, I didn't hesitate. I drove straight to the bank and canceled my card.

Less than a minute later, Vivian called back.

"I was busy earlier, didn't see your calls. What's wrong?" she asked, feigning innocence.

My voice was calm. "It's nothing now."

"Oh."

"Your card seems to have an issue; it's frozen," she said.

"I know." I didn't hide it, confessing directly: "I froze it."

"Why would you freeze your card for no reason? Just for fun?"

"Let's just say. But didn't you say you'd never touch my card again?"

Vivian choked.

I had never argued with her about money before.

Soon after the company launched, I fell seriously ill, needing a sixty-thousand-dollar surgery. Right then, she secretly invested all our savings into a project and lost every last cent.

She thought I'd be angry, crying and apologizing to me.

But I just comforted her, telling her money was trivial, and my funds were always hers to use first.

I thought being open and honest would strengthen our bond, but all it did was give her permission to be completely reckless.

Vivian, however, didn't seem to overthink it. After two seconds of silence, she sighed.

"Alright, I get it. You're still mad I didn't go on our honeymoon with you, so you're throwing a tantrum."

"Caleb Stone, I thought you'd finally grown up, but you're still so petty."

"I promise, after this, I'll drop everything and go on our honeymoon with you, okay?"

"I didn't bring my cards on this trip. Go unfreeze your card now, don't be childish. This client dinner later is really important."

"I'm giving you ten minutes, or I'll be really mad."

As if worried I wouldn't cooperate, Vivian added a threatening remark before hanging up.

In the past, whenever she said she was angry, I would dutifully comply. But she didn't seem to realize I wasn't afraid of her anger; I just thought she was already stressed with the company, and I didn't want to upset her further.

Now I understood that I'd tried my best to ease her burden, but her troubles were almost always self-inflicted.

If that was the case, why should I bother?

"If you didn't bring your bank card, you can ask your secretary, or even Julian. After all, this business trip is for his project; it wouldn't be out of line for him to cover the expenses."

After sending her that message, I turned off my phone and drove home to pack.

I'd paid for the house outright—her dream layout, her preferred floor. Initially, I'd planned to put her name on the deed too, but by some strange, unexplainable impulse, I kept it solely in my name.

Looking back, I was so glad I'd kept a backup plan for myself.

After packing my belongings, I listed the house with a real estate agent.

The next day, I went to the county clerk's office and handed the signed divorce papers to the clerk.

When I first had her sign the agreement, I was still contemplating how to explain it to Vivian. But she was in such a hurry to grab her luggage and leave that day, she didn't even glance at it, just flipped straight to the last page and scribbled her signature.

"Just take a look," I'd said, holding onto a sliver of hope.

"No need. You're my husband, why wouldn't I trust you?"

I gave a bitter laugh.

Her trust in me back then was less than her trust in Julian.

Her so-called trust was just her wanting to quickly dismiss me so she could rush to catch her flight and go on "honeymoon" with Julian.

But it also saved me from wasting my breath.

However, after I submitted the documents, the clerk informed me that they still needed confirmation from both parties that the marriage had irretrievably broken down before processing the divorce.

I showed them the sweet photos Vivian and Julian had taken, and the photos of our wedding portrait she had smashed because of Julian, but the clerk still shook their head.

"We need direct verbal confirmation from both parties."

Frustrated, I turned my phone back on.

As soon as it booted up, countless missed calls and unread messages from Vivian flooded in.

Because I hadn't unfrozen my card, she'd tried everything from begging to reasoning, and the last message completely ripped into me, threatening divorce.

I showed the messages to the clerk.

The clerk still shook their head. Left with no other choice, I dialed her number. It took a long time for her to answer.

"Vivian, our relationship—"

"Relationship? What relationship? Nothing you say now matters! I'm divorcing you, and that's final!"

Vivian, assuming I was trying to win her back as usual, coldly cut me off, then hung up.

The clerk finally believed me, looking at me with a sympathetic gaze. They submitted the documents, telling me the divorce certificate would be issued in a month.

I knew Vivian's talk of divorce wasn't genuine; it was just a threat.

In the past, whenever I upset her, she'd often say it. I'd always be the one who couldn't bear it, relentlessly apologizing and caving to her every demand to make her drop the idea of divorce.

She had me completely cornered, knowing I'd never want a divorce, and this had become her ultimate trump card. She thought threatening me with divorce would always get her what she wanted.

But she seemed to have forgotten: Love, I realized, was like money in a bank account. If you only withdraw and never deposit, eventually, it runs dry.

Because I listed the house at a very reasonable price, it sold in less than a week.

I went to the real estate office, signed the contract, and set a handover date with the buyer. When I returned home,

As soon as I pushed open the door, I heard laughter and chatter from inside.