Ten years of marriage, and all I get is a sneering “What do you even look like?” If I had any pride, I would have divorced him a hundred times by now. But I am the kind of woman without that kind of pride.
During that time, I watched The First Half of My Life over and over, feeling more and more like Luo Zijun—except I had a daughter as well. But unlike her, I had no best friend like Tang Jing, no mentor like He Han to help me through.
If I divorced, I’d get a pittance in the settlement, and I wouldn’t even get custody of my children.
The TV drama was full of hope and redemption, but reality was bleak and unforgiving.
I began living a marriage that felt like widowhood. The only saving grace was that the card he used to pay for our living expenses was never cut off.
I envied women who dared to threaten their own lives for what they wanted, who could act decisively and make cheating husbands pay with their reputations and future.
But I was the most cowardly of them all.
At night, my tears soaked the pillow, and I felt as if my chest were being crushed—painful, hopeless. There were moments when I thought I would go mad, and every tear that reached my lips tasted bitter.
Marriage, it turns out, is a cold and cruel thing.
I surrendered. I promised to take good care of the children, to serve his parents, and not to interfere with his life. He held out the divorce papers.
On them, it was written that I had stayed at home for ten years, had no income, and that the million-yuan property settlement was a generous gift.
I wanted to ask: Without me, how would he have a son and a daughter? How could he have lived so carefree?
But his words were law. If I couldn’t stand it, I had to bear it anyway.
This divorce was something I simply couldn’t afford.
For over two years, I endured it all—until finally, their honeymoon period ended. They started fighting: big fights every few days, small quarrels every day.
I waited for my chance. It was time to settle old and new scores together.
Chen Ming returned home on the third night. He played with the kids for a while, then went to the study to work.
I brewed him a cup of Longjing tea. As I pushed the door open, I heard him on the phone.
“I won’t sleep with her. Didn’t I just give you what you wanted before coming back? You little minx, you’re going to wear me out.”
Disgusting. But that suited me just fine—I wouldn’t want him in my bed anyway.
Suppressing my nausea, I placed the tea down gently and softened my voice. “You’re almost forty. You should take care of your health.”
He seemed surprised by my words, giving me a strange look before turning back to the phone with a doting tone. “Lock the door, you silly girl.”
For a moment, I was lost in memory. In the early days of our marriage, he used to call me “silly girl” too, saying I was kind and innocent, worried that I would be hurt by the harshness of the workplace.
I believed he had truly loved me back then.
Now, he still used those words—just not for me.
He used to worry about my feelings, but now, he was the one who hurt me most.
But every day of suffering would be repaid tenfold, I told myself.
“As long as you behave, no one can take your place,” he said, no longer mentioning divorce, his tone condescending.
I lowered my head and thanked him humbly. “Chen Ming, could you come home at least three days a week? The kids keep asking for you, and I’m running out of excuses.”
This was the second step of my plan. They had been together for over two years—more than seven hundred days and nights.
I was betting that the novelty had worn off. I needed to get him home. Only by seeing him in person could my plan move forward.
Soon, Meiling sent me a flirtatious video of her and Chen Ming.
I replied immediately: “Thank you for your hard work.”
“He doesn’t love you anymore. What’s the point of calling him back?” she shot back.
I replied: “Love is a luxury I can’t afford. I envy you for having his love.”
“You’ll be kicked out sooner or later,” she said angrily.
“Please, sister,” I typed, but didn’t finish the sentence. I let the silence speak for itself
Chapter 03
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