Chapter 4Divorce By Diagnosis Arctic Aurora

Thanks to the drugs, I slept until late the next afternoon.

When I woke up, Owen was standing by the bed. He was watching me.

“You look thinner,” he said abruptly.

Chemotherapy, medication, and a body that was rapidly failing—I hadn’t managed a decent meal in weeks.

I pushed myself up to sit against the headboard. Owen suddenly held out a thick jacket.

I looked at him, confused. He frowned.

“You didn’t forget what day it is, did you?”

I truly couldn’t remember.

He looked annoyed. “Even I remembered it’s our anniversary. You slept until now. When did you start sleeping in so late?”

I frowned back. Why was Owen so easily agitated these last two days?

He took my hand and pulled me toward the door, heading for the most exclusive, Michelin-starred spot downtown. I had to stop him mid-drive to detour to the law firm to pick up the final divorce papers.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the maître d’ immediately recognized Owen.

“Mr. Song, your usual private table is ready.”

The man’s eyes flickered to me, a flash of surprise in them. After all, the woman who usually joined Owen for late-night trysts in that very place was his executive assistant.

Owen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

I didn’t say anything. I simply took the divorce papers and a pen out of my bag and handed them across the table.

He started to flip the pages, then paused, a strange look of realization crossing his face as he looked at my bare ring finger. Something was missing.

He was distracted. He flipped to the signature page of the agreement, signing it without even glancing at the financial terms.

“I’ve thought about it,” he said, sliding the papers back to me. “The Arctic is too dangerous. I’ll come with you…”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Fireworks exploded in the sky above the city. I looked up suddenly.

A continuous, brilliant chain of fireworks bloomed, gradually forming two names spelled out in light, connected and intertwined: OWEN and WILLOW.

Owen watched me carefully, his eyes searching mine.

“Do you like it?”

I couldn’t help the slow smile that curved my lips.

I loved fireworks. I loved the vibrant colors, the celebratory sound, the simple, dramatic romance of it all.

It would be better, of course, if Owen’s name could just be removed.

My smile seemed to mesmerize him for a moment. He smiled back, taking out a small, exquisite gift box.

“Happy Anniversary, Willow. From now on, I’ll be here for every single one.”

“Open the gift.”

“No need,” I said, holding up the signed divorce papers.

I was still smiling. “I’ve already received the best gift I could ask for.”

“After all, I really don’t want to be called Mrs. Owen after I’m dead.”