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My A–List Celebrity husband, Ricky Lancaster, is co–starring on a Reality Dating Show with actress Jasmine Sue, fanning the flames of a manufactured romance; to maintain his single image, he’s divorcing me.
He said, with infuriating condescension: “Once the hype dies down, we’ll remarry.”
I sneered: “How long will I have to wait this time? A month? A year? An entire lifetime?”
Ricky Lancaster’s face darkened with impatience. “Jasmine is waiting for me to help her pick out a pet; I don’t have time for this melodrama.”
My eyes burned with unshed tears, and I whispered: “What about the baby in my stomach?” Ricky Lancaster scoffed. “The baby’s in your stomach; what am I supposed to do? I’ll see it
after it’s born.”
He even bet a million bucks with his bros, wagering how long it would take for me to crawl back, begging for forgiveness.
Sue.
But not this time, no way.
Because the Best Actor is standing right here, waiting to get hitched.
Divorce Certificate in my left hand, Marriage Certificate in my right.
I was reeling.
A month ago, Grandma, who raised me all on her own, got a brain tumor and is nearly blind.
Her biggest wish in this life is to finally see my darling and take a family picture together.
But I’ve been married for five freaking years.
And my husband, Ricky Lancaster, hasn’t shown his face to Grandma even once.
Watching Grandma’s vision fade more and more.
I begged Ricky Lancaster, time and time again.
But he rejected me, again and again.
“Filming a variety show with Jasmine Sue, got no time.”
“Jasmine Sue had a hypoglycemic episode and fainted, got no time.”
“Jasmine Sue’s cat is sick, got no time.”
Of course he had no time, because that entire year, he was practically glued to Jasmine
Desperate to win back his affections, I begged him to have a child with me.
But still, eager to play the CP game with Jasmine Sue, he proposed a Divorce.
Grandma doesn’t have much time left.
Isaac Hawthorn, the Best Actor and my former high school classmate, agreed to a marriage
of convenience with me, promising to help me fulfill her final wish.
“Wait for me to come back, and we’ll go see Grandma together.”
My thoughts snapped back to reality.
3:55 pm G
After seeing Isaac Hawthorn off, I took a taxi to the hospital and scheduled an abortion for
tomorrow.
Then I went home to pack.
The living room was a complete disaster, littered with no less than eighteen pets of different
breeds!
Ricky Lancaster is allergic to pet fur; I abandoned the cat I’d raised since childhood to be
with him.
And now, for Jasmine Sue, he’s willing to take anti–allergy medication every single day.
I looked at the pill bottles on the table and managed a bitter smile.
So this is the difference between love and’its absence.
I walked into the bedroom. Used condoms and sticky tissues littered the floor, reeking with a sickening stench.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore and wretched, clinging to the toilet bowl.
I knew they’d been together for ages.
But some things, no matter how long you brace yourself, still hit you just as hard when they
finally happen.
I was halfway through packing when Ricky Lancaster walked in, hand–in–hand with Jasmine
Sue.
He saw me, and a flicker of guilt crossed his face.
Then, acting as if nothing were amiss, he coolly announced, “Jasmine is exhausted from filming. I bought a massage chair, so she’ll be living here from now on.”
Too tired? Back when we were first married, Ricky Lancaster was just another face in the
crowd.
To support his dreams, I was juggling four jobs a day, with barely a moment to breathe.
When I was in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer, he couldn’t even muster a shred of
sympathy.
I sneered, “Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m moving out right now.”
Hearing that, he coldly ordered, “I’m used to you taking care of things. Hiring someone else is
too much of a hassle. Just stay and clean the place. Free rent, of course.”
So, in his eyes, I was just a free maid, the kind that doesn’t even cost him a dime.
But I’d had enough ages ago.
I’d had enough of his high–and–mighty attitude, enough of my own patience and compromises.
