Chapter 5: The End of Honesty

Before the woman left, she was still saying, "I’ll send you the address, come quick."

Ethan slammed the door in her face. He turned to me: "Why are you back early? Did you eat? Want something? I’ll order takeout."

He acted perfectly natural, not the least bit guilty about being caught. But he was talking more than usual.

I didn’t say a word. Ethan went to the coffee table drawer for cigarettes.

Suddenly, I remembered—Ethan once really liked a girlfriend who hated the smell of smoke. She told him she didn’t want secondhand smoke, and during that time, he quit smoking. Unfortunately, that girl later went to New York for her career, and they broke up amicably because of the distance. If they hadn’t, maybe I’d never have had a chance.

After that, Ethan never quit smoking for anyone—not for me, certainly. But I didn’t want to breathe secondhand smoke either, so I regularly threw out all the cigarettes at home.

Ethan couldn’t find his cigarettes, scratched his head irritably. A few seconds later, he suddenly pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I didn’t close my eyes, and saw his face as if he were marching to his execution. I pushed him away.

Ethan’s face turned ugly. He’d probably never been rejected by a woman before—especially not by someone as plain as me.

I demanded, "Who was that woman just now?"

"What do you think?"

Impatience flashed in Ethan’s eyes. "Natalie, have I spoiled you? You chased me, insisted on being with me. You knew what I was like. You accepted it back then, so why are you making a fuss now?"

My hands shook, but I kept my voice steady. I’d practiced this moment in the shower a hundred times. I let a few tears fall, smiling bitterly:

"I can accept that the person I’m chasing dates others, breaks up, dates again, and breaks up again. But I never said I could accept my husband cheating."

My tears fell. Ethan’s hand trembled, his face changed. But after a moment, he spoke:

"What’s the difference? If you can’t accept it, just divorce me."

The word hung in the air, heavier than any fight we’d ever had.

He said "divorce" as casually as he used to say "break up" to every girlfriend. He was sure I wouldn’t let him go. That I’d cry and beg him to come back, just like all his previous girlfriends. Maybe even more so. Once, I thought so too.

The streetlights outside flickered, like broken stars. But at four or five in the morning, they suddenly go out, making you instantly sober. It was worse than waking up after a blackout—suddenly, every ugly truth was staring me in the face.

I spoke softly: "Okay."

Ethan was stunned. Before he could react, I continued:

"Ethan, let’s get a divorce."

Ethan’s face instantly turned so ugly I thought he might hit me. He was so angry he laughed: "Natalie, you’re something else. Don’t come crawling back to me later, chasing me like a lost puppy. It’s me, Ethan Blake, dumping you."

As he left, he grabbed his phone, put it on speaker: "Send me the address again, I’ll come over!"

On the other end was the thumping of club music, and the voice of that woman:

"Hurry up, my girlfriend’s heard of you—she likes you too. The three of us can…"

Ethan left without looking back. The door slammed shut behind him.

The wedding photo on the wall shook. The handsome groom and the bride—who, after expensive Photoshop, could barely pass for a little beauty—stood arm in arm, beaming. The bride gazed at the groom, eyes full of love. The groom looked at the camera, calm and a little impatient. No matter how you looked at it, they didn’t match.

But luckily, it’s over now.

I let out a long sigh of relief, completely relaxed. Actually, there was one more thing I lied to Ethan about—

What Ethan didn’t know? My "business trip" wasn’t three days. It was three years. And this time, I wasn’t coming back.