On the night we divorced, I stood in the entryway holding the cake I’d bought to make up for his missed birthday. He said, “Tingwan, let’s get divorced.” I didn’t cry or make a scene. I signed the papers and left with my suitcase the next day.
Three years later, at three in the morning, my phone lit up. A text from him read: “I’m waiting for you in People’s Square. If you don’t come, I’ll keep waiting.”
When I got there, he was sitting on the steps by the fountain, holding two cups of cold soy milk. His eyes reddened when he saw me. “Tingwan, I regret it.”
But what I didn’t know was this: he waited for me for one night, while I waited for him for three years. And it took me ten years to learn the real reason he signed the divorce papers back then.
