Chapter 2

Back home, Ethan's texts came flooding in.

"Wait for me at home. I'll explain everything."

"I remembered your birthday. I got you a present. I'm already on my way back…"

Message after message, all the same hollow promises.

I didn't reply to a single one.

I just sat in front of my computer screen, staring at the overseas job offer, my cursor hovering over the "Accept" button for the longest time.

My mind drifted through our three years of dating, our three years of marriage.

There had been so much good.

But now I couldn't tell which parts were real and which were lies.

He'd told me he hated fish, couldn't stand the smell.

Yet there he'd stood in the fishiest place in the city, kissing a girl who sold fish for a living.

He was supposed to be the youngest, most promising professor at the university.

The upstanding educator. The gentle husband who treated me with courtesy and respect.

And in the blink of an eye, he was gutting fish for some market girl—willingly, eagerly…

Tears pooled at the rims of my eyes.

The sun sank behind the western hills. The house went dark.

Night fell.

Ethan didn't come home.

No explanation. No messages.

I pressed my hand over my mouth and finally let myself cry.

That job offer—the one that had been sitting in my inbox for a week—I quietly clicked Accept.

So be it. It was time for this to end.

When I was done, I contacted a lawyer.

Drafted a divorce agreement. Calculated the division of marital assets.

Ethan pushed through the door late that night.

I was sitting in the living room, the divorce papers on the coffee table in front of me.

He stood in the doorway, staring at the back of my head in surprise.

His first words weren't an explanation. They were a confession:

"My relationship with Mia isn't what you think."

"Four years ago, I was out at sea on a research expedition. There was an accident. She saved my life."

"Everything I've done—it's to repay that debt."

"She has no one. I'm all she has in this world. Without me, she wouldn't survive."

"But you're different. You have family. You have friends. She has nothing but me."

The ache in my chest returned, sharp and raw.

My nose stung. I asked him:

"There are a thousand ways to repay a debt. Did it have to be by cheating?"

He exploded.

Hurled his jacket to the floor, jabbed a finger at me, and shouted:

"Clara! Who said anything about cheating? Mia and I—it's been nothing more than a kiss! Nothing else has happened between us!"

This was the first time Ethan had ever raised his voice at me.

The first time in three years of marriage.

I swallowed the bitterness rising inside me and asked:

"Fine. I understand. I accept. But if you can eat her fish, why the hell couldn't you let me eat mine at home?"

He faltered. The fury on his face slowly retreated.

He stepped forward and pulled me gently into his arms.

The stench of fish clung to him, thick and nauseating. I wanted to retch.

I struggled, but I was no match for his strength.

He spoke:

"Clara, you and she are different."

"You come from a good family. You're beautiful. You have parents who adore you."

"But her?"

"She doesn't know who I really am. Doesn't know where her own parents are."

"All she wants is for me to be there for her. She doesn't care about anything else. I have to give her something."

Give her something?

I laughed—furious, incredulous—and looked him dead in the eye:

"So you gave me the lie that you hate fish, and then went and ate with her?"

"No!"

"Then what?"

"I promised her I'd only ever share meals with her. For the rest of my life."

The air around us went still.

I stared at him, red-eyed, brimming with disappointment.

The last trembling flame inside me—the one still hoping we had a chance—flickered out.

He opened his mouth, then stopped:

"Don't look at me like that…"

I praised him. Lavished him with praise:

"Ethan, you are so noble! So selfless! You've managed to draw such a clean line—even over something as simple as eating fish—keeping her and me in our tidy separate boxes!"

"Clara, don't do this. I haven't betrayed our vows. I haven't betrayed our marriage. I just—"

"Ethan!" I said his name deliberately, cutting off whatever excuse was coming next.

His gaze trembled.

I said it softly:

"Let's get a divorce."

The tears and the words came at the same time.

Because I'd never imagined there would be a day when Ethan and I would divorce.

His pupils shook. He stammered:

"Clara, this isn't what I want—I never wanted to lose you! I—!"

His phone rang in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and every word of his plea died in his throat.

I said quietly:

"Answer it. Someone's calling this late—she's probably in trouble."

Ethan tried to soothe me with one hand while rushing to the window to take the call. As if to prove to me that there was truly nothing between them, he left it on speaker:

"Ethan, the harbor flooded! All those fish you caught for me today—they're gone, every last one!"

"Please, can you come help me!"

Ethan looked back at me.

His eyes were full of pleading.

I lowered my gaze and said softly:

"Go, Ethan. Those fish are her livelihood."

Relief washed over him. He didn't even manage a goodbye before bolting out the door.

The moment it slammed shut—

the clock on the wall pointed to midnight.

The house was silent. As if no one had come home at all.

I whispered to myself:

"Happy thirtieth birthday, Clara."

"From now on, you'll be celebrating alone."