In the seventh year of marriage, I got the seven-year itch that everyone fears.
That day was our wedding anniversary. I cooked a table of dishes at home and waited from afternoon until early morning.
The lights outside the window were turned off one by one, and the screen of the mobile phone turned on and off, dimmed and on again, but there was still no news from him.
It was past 0 o'clock, and when he opened the door and came in, there was a lipstick mark printed on the collar of his white shirt. It was bright red with fine glitter.
I asked him, do you remember what day it is today?
He walked past me and bent down to change his shoes without raising his head: "I don't remember."
I filed for divorce.
He finally looked at me and said, "You are thirty, why do you care about a little girl?"
Later, the little girl called me and told me sweetly that she was pregnant.
I put the divorce agreement in front of him and waited for him to sign it.
After seven years of marriage, he never cared about what I wanted.
I thought he would sign it.
But he didn't.
On the day I boarded the plane, my phone rang.
The familiar numbers vibrated again and again in the palm of my hand.
I didn't answer.
The senior next to him glanced at the screen and stretched out his hand.
He took it for me.
"She's not available."
Purpose: Pursuit of freedom and happy life