Chapter 1The Butterfly Effect of My Divorce

In the spring of the fifth year after our divorce.

Arthur and I unexpectedly crossed paths at a tattoo studio.

He was there to touch up the color of his beloved's name tattooed on his chest.

I was there to cover up the old scars on my wrist.

After five years of separation, we looked at each other in silence.

After a moment of silence, Arthur was just about to speak when a pair of small hands grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"Daddy." The little boy looked at me curiously: "Who is she?"

* * *

The island breeze rustled the wind chimes hanging from the porch, breaking the long silence.

"I'm a customer," I said. "Just like your daddy, I'm here to get a tattoo."

The little boy tilted his head: "Do you know my daddy?"

"Leo." Arthur's tone held a hint of sternness. The little boy pouted and stopped talking.

"I don't know him," I answered anyway. "A stranger."

Arthur's face darkened.

The shop owner tapped the counter, his gaze shifting between me and him: "Who's first?"

Arthur, who had been leaning against the counter, stood up straight, his eyes fixed on me: "She is."

The man was wearing a white linen shirt paired with silver-gray dress pants. The collar was unbuttoned casually, revealing a good portion of his toned chest.

On his left chest, there was an English tattoo, half-hidden so it wasn't very clear, but I knew whose name it was.

Even when we divorced, that name had never appeared on Arthur's chest.

"First come, first served," I said with polite formality. "Please go ahead, sir."

Before Arthur could reply, his phone vibrated. By chance, I saw "Wife" displayed on the screen.

He pressed the screen off and immediately looked at me. I turned and walked toward the lounge booth.

From behind, I heard the little boy ask excitedly: "Is Mom calling?"