My ex-husband regretted it after I remarried
John’s canary was acting up again.
He slid the divorce papers across the table.
“Sign these,” he said. “Just for show, to appease the little bird.”
I clutched my skirt, nodding.
Silently, I signed my name.
As I left, I heard his friends teasing him.
“Your wife’s way too docile, man. I bet she’d get a marriage license with you if you told her to, without a peep.”
John lit a cigarette, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Wanna bet?”
They wagered that at the courthouse next month, I’d be a blubbering mess but would still obediently swap our marriage certificate for a divorce decree.
I gripped my phone, silent.
I replied to the text I’d just received:
【Marry me. Just say yes.】
“Yes.”
I tapped out a single:
【？】
The reply was almost instantaneous.
I turned off my phone.
The laughter from inside the office continued.
“See! I told you she’s a pushover! Drinks are on me next month, boys!”
“Three months,” John corrected.
“Fine, fine!”
More laughter erupted.
I hurried out of the building.
The sharp sunlight stung my eyes as I stepped outside.
Tears began to stream down my face.
John had fallen for a college girl, Sarah.
He’d bought her a condo in the city, filled it with designer clothes and bags.
But Sarah wouldn’t let him touch her, wouldn’t let him kiss her.
She’d stand in her 3,800 square foot penthouse, draped in hundred-thousand-dollar couture, and declare, “I’m not going to be the other woman!”
John found it all incredibly amusing.
This was the third time he’d put on this act for her.
The first time, he’d showered me with public displays of affection.
Back then, I was oblivious to Sarah’s existence.
I’d happily wrapped my arms around him for countless photos.
Seeing his Instagram grid filled with our pictures, I felt thrilled and hopeful.
But no matter how much I refreshed my feed, I couldn’t find the post.
Later, I discovered he’d set it to “Only Sarah can see.”
The second time, he’d staged a fight with me.
He left me stranded on the street.
He snapped a picture of me crying alone and sent it to Sarah.
【See? I can’t help it. She’s clingy.】
The third time, he wanted a divorce.
My phone buzzed. I picked it up.
【Really?】
【Are you serious?】
【Ashley?】
I wiped away my tears and managed a smile.
“Really.”
That afternoon, John took me to the courthouse.
He was in high spirits the entire drive.
He kept asking me where I wanted to go for our third anniversary.
John and I had grown up together. This was our third year of marriage.
“How about Prague?” he asked.
“You’ve been wanting to feed the pigeons in Prague Square since you were seven.”
He got out of the car, opened my door, and unbuckled my seatbelt.
“Hey, have you been crying?”
He frowned, his fingertip brushing against the corner of my eye.
“I told you it was just for show. Just a little fling. I’m curious to see how long it takes for her to come around.”
As he spoke, something fell out of his pocket.
A box of condoms.
John coughed, rubbing his nose.
He offered no explanation.
He led me into the courthouse.
Everything went smoothly.
I have selective mutism.
I often struggle to speak around strangers.
But I can nod and shake my head.
“Is this divorce of your own free will?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Do you confirm that your relationship is irretrievably broken?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“There’s a one-month waiting period. Please return after one month.”
John took the receipt.
Before we even left the courthouse, he snapped a photo of it and texted it to someone.
A message arrived on my phone.
It was Sarah, as always. John had sent her the picture of the receipt, with a message attached:
“Happy now? Wash up for me tonight!”
I clicked on her profile picture and blocked her.
Just then, a notification popped up for a confirmed flight ticket.
And a WeChat message followed:
【Tickets booked. One month from today.】
【See you in Paris.】
That night, I dreamt of John again.
Young John, with his sweet words.
“Ashley, your eyes are so beautiful. Can I always look at them when I talk to you?”
“Ashley, you play the piano so well. Can I come hear your concerts every day?”
“Ashley, I like you best! When I grow up, I’m going to marry you!”
I loved John too.
We sat together at school.
We played together after school.
Even when my parents died in a car accident, I was in his family’s car.
Playing rock-paper-scissors with him.
But the two cars were too close.
I watched as a massive truck plowed through them.
Boom—
My dad, my mom, my brother, even my puppy, perished in the flames.
For a long time, I couldn’t speak.
I needed John to be with me to fall asleep.
Back then, he was so patient.
He helped me with speech therapy.
He told me stories night after night.
Anyone who dared to call me “mute,” he’d punch them.
Marrying him seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
The day after we graduated college, he leaned over my bed early in the morning.
“Ashley, let’s get married. Officially.”
That day, we became husband and wife.
My dream was filled with red roses, covering our new home.
He knelt on the bed, kissing me tenderly.
He said, Ashley, we’ll be this happy forever.
But when I opened my eyes, the world was dark.
I reached for my phone. Sarah had sent another text.
A photo.
A messy bed, a smear of blood.
Nausea washed over me.
I rushed to the bathroom and retched.
But all I could bring up were tears.
Finally, I sat on the cold bathroom floor, hugging my knees.
I must have accidentally brushed against something on my phone, because a deep male voice suddenly broke the silence:
“Ashley?”
My heart skipped a beat.
I picked up the phone.
“David… Miller?”
David was a fellow sufferer.
After three years of therapy, my selective mutism had improved significantly.
I only lost my voice when I was feeling down or anxious.
During my two years of marriage with John, I’d almost fully recovered.
Happy and with free time, I joined a support group for people with selective mutism.
David was assigned as my support buddy.
For two years, I honestly thought he was a girl.
A pink bunny profile picture, the WeChat name “Angel.”
At first, “she” barely responded to me.
But those who suffer understand each other.
People struggling with selective mutism often have deep emotional scars.
They might not be able to speak.
But they need someone to be there.
I relentlessly shared my daily life with “her.”
From texts to voice messages.
From photos to videos.
We shared so much that we became like old friends.
So when I first spoke to him on the phone and discovered “he” was a man, I was so shocked I almost had a relapse.
“I’m… sorry,” I stammered into the phone. “I… disturbed… your rest…”
“No,” David said, “It’s nine p.m. here.”
His speech was so fluent.
This was my second conversation with him.
After discovering he was male, I’d kept my distance.
That day was purely coincidental.
I hadn’t contacted him for almost a month.
As fate would have it, when John handed me the divorce papers, David asked me what I was doing.
My mind was reeling from the words “divorce papers.”
I simply replied: 【Divorce.】
After signing, I hid outside John’s office, trembling.
【David, I think… I’m going to be homeless.】
No dad, no mom, no brother, not even my beloved puppy.
Now, no John.
What was I going to do?
I didn’t expect his reply:
【Marry me. Just say yes.】
The laughter from inside the room grew louder.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Ashley can’t even speak without John. There’s no way she’ll actually go through with the divorce.”
“Yeah, if she really went to get divorced, she’d probably cry the courthouse down!”
“Oh really?” John scoffed, tossing his lighter onto the coffee table. “Even if she cries like a baby, she’ll still be my dog.”
“If I tell her to go east, she’ll crawl there!”
I stared blankly through the crack in the door at the man who had become a stranger.
【Yes.】
David sent me a list.
Things to do within one month.
Applying for a visa, finding a lawyer – those were a given.
But the list also included a surprisingly detailed itinerary of must-try restaurants.
【Chinese food abroad is terrible.】
【Trust me.】
I happily obliged.
I followed his list, visiting one restaurant after another.
Life alone didn’t seem so bad after all.
Every day was filled with eating, shopping, and packing.
The day I moved out of our apartment, John texted me.
【You didn’t even call me? Didn’t you miss me?】
He’d taken Sarah on a trip.
Said he wanted to show her the world.
【Naughty girl.】
He texted again.
Then he sent a picture.
【This place is amazing. I’ll bring you here for our anniversary, too?】
I wanted to block him, just like I blocked Sarah.
But I still needed to go to the courthouse to get the divorce certificate, so I held back.
For the next two weeks, I sold off my smaller pieces of jewelry and handbags.
I went to the doctor for a check-up.
Made sure I wasn’t pregnant.
Finally, I organized all of John’s assets that he’d entrusted to me.
The night before our appointment at the courthouse, John returned.
He called me.
“Ashley, you moved out?”
Used to my silence on the phone, he chuckled to himself.
“Ashley, you’re so cute.”
“I told you it was just an act.”
“Tell you what,” he said, his voice light. “Let’s play along till the end. Tomorrow, come with me to the courthouse and let’s get that divorce certificate.”
I held the phone.
“Ashley, don’t worry, it’s just…”
“Okay,” I said.
“Whoa~~~” A chorus of cheers erupted from the background.
I hung up.
I texted him the time.
The next day, I woke up early.
John arrived late.
Probably Sarah’s doing, there was a faint bite mark on his lip.
He pretended it wasn’t there.
I pretended I didn’t see it.
The procedure was even smoother than the last time.
It took less than five minutes.
“Ashley, I have a surprise for you tomorrow.”
John nudged my leg playfully.
I tucked away the divorce certificate. “John, are you free tonight?”
I looked at him. “There are some things I want to talk to you about.”
John froze.
Since our wedding, I’d always called him “honey.”
A moment later, he grinned, flashing his newly acquired red book.
“Sure.”
No matter what John had become this past year, I didn’t want to negate the John of the past.
I was grateful for his years of companionship, thankful for the care he’d once shown me.
So, I hadn’t planned to leave without saying goodbye.
But that night, it rained.
Thunder and lightning.
I’m terrified of nights like these.
The car accident happened on a stormy night just like this one.
I endured the tremors running through my body, waiting for John.
I even worried that when he showed up, years of habit would shatter the emotional walls I’d painstakingly built over the past month, and I’d collapse into his arms, sobbing.
But he didn’t come.
He called me.
The background was noisy when the call connected.
“Redemption? What a load of crap!”
“I was so sick of her those years! If it wasn’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have bothered with her!”
“Marriage? You guys want to know why we got married so early?”
“Because she wouldn’t let me touch her!”
“I’m just curious, doesn’t she get all tongue-tied when she’s emotional? So what about in bed? Can she even make a sound? Hahaha.”
Boom!
It felt like something, on this stormy night, was being torn to shreds again.
I wanted to hide.
I didn’t want anyone to see my humiliation.
But where could I hide?
Everywhere was rain, everywhere was lightning.
Everywhere was mockery.
David’s call came just then.
“Ashley?”
His voice was always so calm.
It made the surrounding noise seem to fade away.
“Are you crying?”
I wanted to say no.
But I couldn’t speak.
As if responding to his words, tears began to flow uncontrollably.
“Wait there,” he said, his voice still calm. “I’ll come get you.”
John, the second son of the affluent Miller family, was single again.
His friends threw him a “bachelor party,” drinking themselves silly at a karaoke bar.
They passed out in a row.
Hours later, someone groggily reached for their phone.
“Holy crap! Big news!”
The shout woke a few others.
“That reclusive CEO of Miller Industries, David Miller, is back in the city!”
“Flew in on his private jet overnight!”
Someone mumbled, waving a dismissive hand. “No way. I thought he was recovering abroad? Haven’t seen him in ten years.”
“It’s true! It’s all over the news!”
The phone got passed around.
The room, which had quieted down, became lively again.
“It really is him! And he’s got some girl with him! Says he flew back to take her out of the country!”
“Whoa, no PR spin? He must be in a hurry.”
“Let me see, let me see!”
“Huh, that girl… she looks familiar…”
“John! John!” Someone nudged John. “Doesn’t that girl in David Miller’s arms look like… your wife?”
John had been awake for a while.
But he wasn’t interested in the Miller family drama.
“There’s no way that’s my wife.” He grabbed the phone irritably. “My wife’s too scared to leave the city, let alone the country…”
He glanced at the photo and froze.
The airport was drenched in rain.
Under a black umbrella, a tall, stern-faced man shielded the girl in his arms, keeping her completely hidden from view.
But he knew Ashley too well.
Her figure, her hair…
Impossible.
John dropped the phone with a thud.
How could Ashley possibly know someone like David Miller?
She’d even asked him to meet her at her apartment tonight.
Probably dying to see him after a month apart.
John pulled a cigarette from his case.
Lit it.
Picked up his phone.
Found Ashley’s number, ready to dial.
He glanced at the time.
3:00 AM.
Never mind. She was probably asleep.
But.
No matter the time, Ashley always answered his calls.
John turned his phone back on.
Dialed.
“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
After the accident, I never left the city.
All forms of transportation terrified me.
Going to a completely unfamiliar place filled me with anxiety.
I sat beside David, nervously fiddling with my hands.
He was so tall.
Even in the backseat of the car, he was still a head taller than me.
He seemed very serious.
The driver spoke to him, and he responded with just a few curt words.
He seemed to be some kind of important person.
Back at the city airport, reporters had swarmed us.
Calling him “Mr. Miller” over and over again.
Had I… made a mistake?
I hadn’t even known his name was “David Miller” until our first phone call.
And Paris? A city I never even dared to dream of.
The person beside me shifted.
He pulled something out of his pocket and offered it to me.
“Want one?”
A piece of candy.
The wrapper had a pink bunny on it.
My memory flashed back to two years ago, when I’d relentlessly chatted with “her.”
“Angel, do you like candy?”
“I found this candy recently, it’s so good!”
“Chewy and soft, with a peachy scent!”
“If you want to try some, give me your address, I’ll send you a jar?”
“She” replied with an address in French.
It was the first time “she” had responded to me.
The feeling of unfamiliarity suddenly dissipated.
