When Zhang Yi came home, I was on the phone with my best friend, excitedly chatting about which supermarket had Friday sales and which wet market had the freshest fish. As usual, I handed him his slippers and reached for his briefcase. The other end of the call had gone quiet, making his next words ring out with startling clarity:

"Let's get a divorce."

Just five simple, low-spoken words—not even prefaced with "honey" or "dear."

Zhang Yi and I had been high school classmates. We attended universities in different cities but were both assigned to Haicheng after graduation. A few meetups later, we naturally got together. Three years of dating, two years of marriage—I wouldn’t call myself the happiest woman in the world, but at least I was fortunate to have such a fulfilling, peaceful life.

It had never crossed my mind that our relationship would one day reach its end. So when he dropped this bombshell out of nowhere, I thought I was hallucinating.

"W-what did you say?"

Zhang Yi frowned, tugging impatiently at his tie as he repeated, louder this time, "I said, let's get a divorce."

My grip on the phone slackened, and I stared at him in disbelief. "Am I hearing this right?"

Our relationship wasn’t exactly passionate—after five years together, the novelty and excitement of early love had long faded. But it was stable, and I cherished this quiet life. Even without children, I was content. So why? Why would he suddenly want out when everything seemed fine?

Zhang Yi kept his eyes down, avoiding my gaze, while I stared at him pleadingly. A lump rose in my throat, and before I knew it, tears spilled over. "Why?" I choked out, my voice thick with hurt.

Instead of softening, my tears only seemed to agitate him further. His eyes brimmed with disgust. "Enough, Fang Qiong! Take a look at yourself in the mirror—disheveled, out of shape, dressed in clothes even my mother wouldn’t wear. All you ever talk about is supermarkets and wet markets. I come home exhausted from work, and the last thing I need is to listen to your mindless gossip and trivial nonsense. I’m sick of this life. I’m done. So let’s just end it, okay?"

I couldn’t describe how I felt—only that my chest tightened, my strength drained away in an instant. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I never realized how repulsive I was in his eyes. Yes, I was unkempt, wearing outdated clothes, stuck in the dull routine of office, market, and home. My conversations revolved around grocery prices and idle chatter. I bombarded him with topics he couldn’t care less about the moment he walked in. But wasn’t this what normal married life looked like? We’d lived this way for years—why was it suddenly unbearable now?

"Zhang Yi," I blurted out, the thought flashing through my mind, "are you having an affair?" There was no other explanation for his sudden change.

"Yes! I’m cheating. So let’s get divorced!" His reply came fast, almost mocking. Stung, I shot back, "Fine. Let’s do it then."

Without another thought, I grabbed my phone and told my best friend, "I’m staying at your place tonight."

At this critical juncture, I still didn't want to burn bridges. I thought maybe Zhang Yi was just stressed from work, having a bad day, and would calm down by tomorrow after a night's rest. But after meeting my best friend, I realized things weren't as simple as I'd imagined.

Still in my flip-flops without even changing clothes, I stood at the door and glanced back at Zhang Yi, my voice hoarse: "Dinner's ready. Don't forget to eat." His fists were clenched, his whole body trembling with anger. As the door slammed shut, I heard a loud bang followed by a furious "Damn it!"

The whole way there, I kept replaying Zhang Yi's words in my head. I even started wondering if I'd become too worn down by marriage, too careless about my appearance—had I really not worn makeup since that job interview three years ago? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it was my fault... until I sat in my best friend's living room and spotted the photo tucked beneath the ashtray on the coffee table.

I'd only meant to distract myself, but that photo...

In it, my best friend was puckering up to kiss a man's cheek, beaming like she'd won the lottery. Only a sliver of the man's profile was visible, but that tiny glimpse was enough to expose their three-year-long affair.

She walked over from the kitchen with a glass of water, pausing noticeably when she saw the photo in my hand before quickly regaining her composure. Setting the glass down, she sat beside me. "Have some warm water. You're shivering—your lips have gone purple."

I wanted to say they weren't purple from cold but from rage. But I wasn't ready to confront her yet. I needed to know more...

Casually placing the photo back on the table, I forced a smile. "So when are you going to introduce me to this boyfriend of yours?"

Her eyes darted away as she laughed and slipped the photo into a magazine. "I would, but he's always swamped. Even I have to schedule time to see him."

Hah. "Scheduling"—more like hiding from me.

My smile turned bitter. "Mengjie, what's his name? How old is he? Where does he work?"

I've never been good at hiding my feelings, and my tone must have betrayed me. Normally sharp as a tack, she suddenly played dumb, deflecting: "Oh, two or three years older than me. I don't pry about his work."

With every word, my heart grew colder.

"His name?" She'd artfully dodged the question, but I pressed on.

Her smile stiffened; she shifted uncomfortably. "Why the sudden interest in my love life?"

I could barely hold myself together, my composure hanging by a thread. "Can't answer? Should I help? His name is Zhang Yi. Twenty-eight. Project manager at Huatai. Married—to Fang Qiong. Your best friend."

The color drained from her face. She braced herself against the couch, knuckles white. "What... what are you implying?"