Chapter 1She Signed the Divorce Papers on Our Wedding Day

On our third wedding anniversary, Gina stumbled in drunk. In her haze, she grabbed my wrist, mistaking me for someone else.

"Dave, you finally divorced. I've waited so long," she mumbled, her voice trembling with suppressed excitement. I stayed frozen, letting her hold on.

"For three years, I went to your office instead of your wife. I bought you flowers. Every second was agony." Her words slurred lower until she collapsed on the bed.

I sat by her side until dawn. When she woke and saw me, relief washed over her face. "So you know. Good. I don't have to pretend anymore."

She confessed she and Dave were now together—official as of yesterday, our anniversary. "I chased him for three years, and he finally said yes. I'm sorry, but what we have is real."

I nodded silently, opened the nightstand, and pulled out two divorce agreements. The date was blank, but the signature line was already filled in Gina’s own handwriting, dated the same day we got our marriage certificate, three years ago.

* * *

She snatched the papers from my hands, flipping through them twice in disbelief.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Exactly what it looks like," I replied. "When you signed this three years ago, I told you. Whenever you figured your shit out, just fill in the date."

She slammed the documents down on the nightstand. The sharp smack of paper echoed in the room.

"Dave had no idea I was chasing him these past three years," she argued. "He only agreed to be with me yesterday. I did not cheat. I never betrayed you."

I stood up to grab a glass of water.

"I know," I said. "You came home on time every night. You spent weekends here. You never missed a holiday gift. You didn't physically cheat."

She followed me into the hall.

"Then what is this? Three years? You had divorce papers waiting for me this whole time?"

I set the glass down.

"You were wasted last night. When I carried you to bed, you called out his name twenty-three times."

That shut her up.

I walked right past her back into the bedroom, picked up the two copies of the agreement, set them neatly on the nightstand, and placed a pen right next to them.

"Fill in the date yourself. I am going to work."

As I was changing my shoes by the door, she chased after me, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood. Her voice was thick and sticky.

"You are just going to walk out?"

I straightened up and looked back at her.

"What else am I supposed to do? You confessed to him yesterday. Did you make things clear with him today? Is he waiting for you? Did you guys pick a time for your first real date?"

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"I figured it out for you," I said. "Today is Thursday. You guys can grab dinner on Friday, maybe catch a movie over the weekend. I will come back on Monday to pack the rest of my stuff."

When the front door clicked shut behind me, she didn't follow.

The elevator arrived quickly.

I stood inside, watching the glowing red numbers tick down one by one.

Lobby.

The doors slid open. A delivery guy was standing right there, holding a massive bouquet of red roses, squinting at the shipping label.

"Dave?" he looked up and asked me.

I told him no.

He stepped aside, and I walked out.

The morning sun was blindingly harsh.