12
The divorce went through surprisingly smoothly.
Will didn’t say much, only commenting that my ex–husband had finally done something sensible for once.
Oliver, holding the divorce papers in his hand, stood silently at the courthouse doors.
He looked awful–his suit was buttoned unevenly, his tie was loose, and there were bruises on his face, as if he’d gotten into a fight.
“Anna,” he said quietly, “I’ll wait for you. However long it takes.”
“I’ll keep learning, keep changing, so that one day, you’ll love me again.”
Will, standing beside me, flashed him our marriage certificate.
D
<
133 AM
“Sorry,” he said coolly, “but you’ll never measure up to me.”
The last time I saw Oliver, it was in the city’s legal news section.
He’d botched a high–profile case, and his reputation had taken a serious hit.
Word got out that he’d been hospitalized for emotional instability, and to make things worse, a family genetic condition had flared up.
After the fire, even Luna, his beloved first love, stopped visiting him.
Only his old friends occasionally sent me photos, trying to guilt me into visiting him.
“Anna, come on. You were his wife. Can’t you at least keep him company for his final days?”
I felt a moment of pity but didn’t give in. I simply sent a plant–a small peace lily–for good health and healing.
Somehow, Oliver pulled through.
The next time I saw a photo of him on social media, he was no longer in the center of the group. He’d been pushed to the edge. He looked thinner, almost frail.
He never contacted me again.
All I heard were whispers–how he’d fallen out with his family, lost everything, and was trying to rebuild his life from some forgotten corner of the city.
Months later, our housekeeper found a pile of letters stuffed into the mailbox.
“Ma’am,” she said, “all of these are yours. They’ve been coming in for ages. There must be over a hundred of them. Who could be so persistent?”
The envelopes were neatly addressed, written in Oliver’s familiar handwriting.
I glanced at them briefly.
“Toss them,” I said.
“And in the future, don’t accept mail from strangers.”
I don’t know how long my current happiness will last.
But for now, the sun is shining, and that’s enough.
Epilogue
Oliver once tried to burn all the keepsakes from his first love.
He thought it would help him let go, but the truth was, he’d become dependent on his new wife.
Even if their marriage had started as a way to satisfy his family, sharing a bed and a home for seven years–even a dog would grow attached.
That morning, when Oliver left for work, Anna didn’t kiss him goodbye the way she usually did.
He paused at the door, waiting, hoping she’d just forgotten.
But Anna didn’t seem distracted. She calmly started cleaning the house instead, urging him to head out.
“I’d like fish tonight,” he said, testing her.
Normally, whenever he requested a dish, Anna would light up with excitement, eager to cook for him. She loved cooking, loved showing off her skills. For her, it was the pride of being a homemaker.
But this time, she didn’t even look up. “Sure, whatever,” she said absentmindedly.
Something felt… off.
10:33 AM J.
<
The whole day, Oliver couldn’t focus. He missed key details in his case files, his mind drifting back to Anna. He picked up his phone several times, wanting to call her, but he didn’t even know what he wanted to say.
There was no reason to be worried. Anna loved him. She always did.
Didn’t she?
His friends tried to reassure him.
“Oliver, women always get emotional. You just need to let them vent.”
Even Luna chimed in.
“I’m a woman. I understand these things,” she said sweetly. “Remember last time? I left a little lipstick on your coat, and Anna went crazy jealousy. She clearly cares about you. It’s cute.”
That made sense, didn’t it? Anna always got upset whenever Luna was involved. Surely, she was just acting out again.
To soothe her, Oliver decided to stop by the market on his way home. He wandered the aisles for ages, debating what to buy.
He wasn’t in a rush. His friends had agreed to call Anna later and stir the pot a little–just enough to make her jealous.
If she begged him to stay for dinner, maybe even cried a little, he’d stay.
Oliver smirked to himself. Everything was under control.
But when he got home, Anna didn’t plead or cry.
She simply stepped aside and said, “Go. Just don’t regret it.”
With
Regret missing one dinner? He nearly laughed. They ate together every day–thousands of meals a year. What difference would one make?
Still, something about her calmness unsettled him.
Oliver hesitated at the door, but his pride wouldn’t let him stay. He grabbed his jacket and left.
He didn’t go to Luna.
Instead, he wandered aimlessly around the city, eventually stopping by a flower shop.
“What kind of flowers does your wife like?” the florist asked.
Oliver froze.
What did Anna like?
After a long pause, he muttered, “Just give me the most expensive ones.”
As he left the shop, clutching the bouquet, guilt began to gnaw at him.
For the first time, Oliver realized he might not know Anna as well as he thought.
The balcony had always been full of plants and flowers, but Oliver had never bothered to notice what his wife liked.
When he got home, everything looked the same–yet it felt entirely different.
The house was spotless.
Too clean.
There were no traces of Anna’s presence anymore.
Oliver tossed the bouquet to the side and wandered through every room, his unease growing with each step.
10:33 AM
<
ᄆ
The silence was suffocating. His hands trembled as he dialed her number, but the call wouldn’t go through.
She was gone.
Anna had left behind the divorce papers, neatly signed, alongside two old letters.
They were the promises he’d made to Luna, his first love, back when he and Anna had just gotten married.
This has to be a tantrum, he thought. She’ll come back once she cools off.
But then he saw it.
The lucky bamboo she had cherished for years, the one she’d begged him to bring home from a temple because she believed it would protect him, was now lying in the trash.
Its stems were hacked to pieces, scattered among coffee grounds and food scraps.
Oliver collapsed to the floor.
He remembered how she had clung to him the day she brought it home, tears streaming down her face.
“I’ll take care of it every day, she’d said. “As long as it grows, you’ll be safe.”
And now, the bamboo lay in the trash like it was nothing.
How could she do this? How could she throw it away?
This had to be a mistake.
Oliver didn’t care about the filth. He pulled the bamboo out of the trash, cradling it in his arms as he tried to wipe it clean.
He called her again and again, but Anna never picked up.
No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he tried to play the victim, she never once looked back.
When Oliver took on the legal case for Shaw Enterprises, his head wasn’t in the game.
It was a major deal–high–value, high–profile–but he hadn’t even read the file properly. It was more of a favor, anyway.
The man sitting across the table smiled as he introduced himself.
“Mr. Carter,” he said, “I trust you’ll handle this case with care. The client is my fiancée.”
“She wasted years of her life on her ex–husband. Frankly, it’s a shame.”
“She deserves better. He wasn’t worth it.”
Oliver’s stomach turned.
He didn’t need to ask. He already knew who the ex–husband was.
It was him.
Oliver spiraled.
He started showing up at Anna’s door, yelling and making scenes like a madman.
But she wouldn’t even look at him. Not his cuts, not his bruises. Her eyes held no warmth, no pity–just indifference.
It was over.
One night, drunk and out of control, Oliver set fire to the house.
The home they had built together, filled with all their shared memories, was reduced to ashes.
The home they had built together, filled with all their shared memories, was reduced to ashes.
1
When the firefighters dragged him out, he was clutching a handful of charred debris, as if holding on to it would
“She’ll feel sorry for me,” he thought. “She’ll take me back.”
But when he saw her again, Anna’s words were as cold as ever.
“Sign the papers, Oliver. Let it go.”
Even when he ended up in the ICU, she didn’t visit.
Now it was his turn to be the one who couldn’t let go.
When Anna remarried, Oliver snuck into the wedding.
There was no seat for him, of course, so he stayed in the shadows, watching from a distance.
She looked radiant. Happy.
bring
her back.
He told himself he just wanted to make sure she was okay. But the truth was, he couldn’t stop wondering if she still thought about him.
Oliver lost his job not long after. During job interviews, he tried to act like the confident man he used to be, but deep down, he was a shell of himself.
Every week, without fail, he sent Anna a letter.
The post office clerk started to recognize him.
“You’ve been sending these for months,” they said. “How many is that now? Don’t you ever get a reply?”
Oliver bought another book of stamps and said nothing.
It didn’t matter if she never responded.
He’d keep writing.
Maybe one day, Anna would read one of his letters.
And maybe–just maybe–she’d fall in love with him again.
(The End)
