On my wedding day, I received a ticket from my husband

Chapter 1

My wedding day came to a screeching halt when my husband, Liam, abruptly left. I waited, brimming with anticipation for his return, only to receive a text message – a parking ticket.

The photo showed my Porsche illegally parked, and through the windshield, two entwined bodies were clearly visible.

My husband had a new wife.

I dismissed the guests, ended the wedding, tossed my ring, and without tears or drama, walked away from seven years of my life, disappearing from his world.

Liam went crazy looking for me.

The ticket felt surreal.

I stared at the picture again and again. My Porsche, illegally parked. Through the windshield, I could see two bodies, intertwined, their pale skin jarringly stark against the scene.

I couldn’t even begin to fathom that the man I’d just been marrying was making love to someone else in my car.

During the ring exchange, Liam took a call and vanished.

Leaving me alone to awkwardly navigate a room full of chattering guests – a nightmare for an introvert like myself.

As his legal wife, I didn’t even get an explanation.

Just a text an hour later: “Busy.”

Two words. That was it. His generosity.

I thought I’d be angry, I’d scream at him, demand answers.

But I just felt… numb. Used to it. Used to his demands, his indifference, his neglect.

The images of what I’d seen churned in my stomach. I vomited.

I was done. Seven years. Seven years of chasing him, of adapting, of compromising. In our relationship, Liam was always the one in control, and I constantly molded myself to fit his mold.

He hated long-distance, so I left my family overseas to be with him.

He had a stomach condition, so I stopped eating my beloved hot pot, learning to cook bland, health-conscious meals instead.

I used to be my parents’ little princess, shielded from any hardship.

I looked at my hands – calloused, rough, the skin cracked from cold weather. Even the best makeup couldn’t hide the wear and tear.

On my ring finger sat a simple band, too small, stark against my skin.

My wedding ring.

Putting it on had been a struggle. Liam had forced it onto my finger, muttering about my weight, about the “waste of money” that buying me a diamond ring would be. From a multi-millionaire CEO, no less.

He’d forgotten.

Forgotten that the ring was sized in the fall, forgotten about my winter fingers, swollen with frostbite, fat as carrots.

Countless times, I’d suggested we get a water heater for the kitchen.

His response? “Don’t need one. I don’t use it.” Never a question about my needs.

He’d forced the ring on, and I thought my finger would break.

It turned purple and swollen, the ring jammed against my fingertip.

He didn’t care. Just relieved that the ceremony was proceeding.

2

When it was my turn to give him the ring, he was gone.

I stared at the ring. I was the one wearing it, the one trapped.

I thought my compromises would save our relationship. Clearly, I was wrong.

I grabbed the microphone, facing the crowd.

“Liam and I are divorced. This is a divorce party. Enjoy the food, then go home.”

I left Liam’s shocked family and friends, walking away without looking back.

Liam and I had been legally married for a while, his family knew. The wedding was repeatedly postponed. This one was my doing – my desperate attempt to make things work.

A wedding no one wanted was never going to work.

I ditched my dress and went to the nearest fire station.

A firefighter, using a saw to cut off the ring, was sympathetic. “It’s way too small. How did your husband even get it on? Your finger was purple! You must have been in so much pain.”

I just smiled wryly. Anyone could see the ring was wrong, but Liam hadn’t cared.

He only cared about his childhood sweetheart, Bethany.

Finally, the ring snapped, and the color returned to my finger.

I tossed the broken band in the trash, just like this broken relationship.

I took a deep breath and called my parents overseas.

Hearing my mother’s voice, the floodgates opened. “Mom, I miss you,” I choked out.

My mother knew something was wrong. “Kara, Liam hurt you.”

Not a question, a statement. The bond between a mother and daughter.

“Mom, I want a divorce. I’ll come home as soon as I’m done.”

“Okay, sweetie. I’m here for you, always.”

I hadn’t flown my parents over for the rushed wedding, afraid they’d see how little he cared.

So, every call, I repeated: “I’m fine. Liam’s good to me.”

I couldn’t keep up the charade anymore. I’d never felt valued, so I couldn’t even imagine, let alone fabricate, a happy story.

Back home, the vibrant red decor of my new apartment stung my eyes. I cried.

If someone doesn’t love you, why force it?

After my emotional release, I began packing. I owned surprisingly little. Mostly his and hers items: slippers, toothbrushes, matching outfits… all going into the trash.

Mid-packing, I ordered spicy Sichuan noodles, extra chili and extra peanut sauce. I’d eaten so blandly for him, now I could finally eat what I wanted.

As I finished packing, there was a knock.

Liam stood there, holding my takeout. The contrast was absurd.

3

I didn’t speak. He launched into an immediate tirade. “This is what you’re eating?”

I checked my phone. A text from Liam thirty minutes earlier: “Cook dinner.” Two words, an order.

I was about to tell him he couldn’t eat the noodles when I saw him happily devouring his own meal at the kitchen table.

His expensive suit and watch, juxtaposed with the cheap takeout container, looked comical.

I’d forgotten. He could eat it. I was just so worried about him, I’d become hyper-vigilant.

Liam finished his meal just as I took out our matching mugs.

He glanced up, disgust on his face. “What is this? It’s hideous. Don’t tell me you expect me to use that.”

“I agree. It’s disgusting,” I said, tossing the mugs in the trash, right in front of him.

This rotten relationship, too, was going in the trash.

Liam clearly didn’t expect my response. He realized, finally, that I was angry.

He strode towards me, wrapping his arms around my waist, burying his face in my neck. Like a koala.

Normally, I’d respond, but my hand remained frozen.

His touch sent shivers down my spine. The memory of him and Bethany flashed in my mind, and I felt nauseous again.

I straightened, pulling away. He sensed my resistance; his tenderness vanished, replaced by annoyance.

“Kara, don’t be mad. I really had to go. Look, I got you a gift.” He held up a butterfly necklace, diamonds glittering under the light. Except, a few diamonds were missing from one wing.

I’d seen it on Bethany’s social media.

Her post about her fiancé giving her a “tacky” butterfly necklace that she threw away; he then bought her a replacement. The caption was dripping with smugness.

The photos showed the necklace, perfect, then discarded in a garbage can.

Liam had retrieved it for me.

He stared at my face. “You’ve been crying?”

I was caught off guard. He pointed to my red, swollen eyes.

“I was packing, and my eyes got irritated.”

A lame excuse, but I knew Liam wouldn’t care.

I picked up a matching towel, trying to diffuse the tension. “This towel is ugly too, right? Let’s throw it out.”

It was pink and blue, embroidered with cartoon versions of us – a design I’d spent weeks sourcing.

My subtle resistance seemed to unsettle Liam. He agreed quietly. “It is pretty ugly.”

Every item in the house was meticulously chosen, but the effort was wasted, a burden.

Liam frowned, sensing something was off. He kept studying me, then his eyes landed on my suitcase.

4

“You’re going somewhere?”

My palms sweated. I had to act calm. “I decided some of the stuff here is ugly, so I’m putting it all in a suitcase to get rid of it at once. It’s easier than throwing things out one by one.”

A pathetic explanation.

Liam was still pondering when his phone rang.

The look on his face – a flicker of panic – told me who it was.

He hung up, then turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. A hint of… regret?

I took the necklace, forcing a smile.

“Go ahead. Don’t worry about me. I understand.”

In the past, I would have pleaded with him to stay. But now, I didn’t care.

He should be satisfied.

Liam kissed my forehead. “If I’d known having a wedding would make you so agreeable, I would have done it sooner. I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

If I’d known loving you would be this painful, I would have never met you, I thought.

He handed me a black card. “Get rid of everything you don’t like in the house. Buy new stuff.”

The things I didn’t want… needed to be gone.

After he left, I ran to the bathroom and washed my face until my skin burned.

The next week was a blur: lawyers, packing, work. Seven years of love felt like a brand, leaving scars even as I peeled it away. Better than the unending pain it had caused.

Liam didn’t return for days. Bethany had a severe allergic reaction and ended up in the hospital.

My noodles that night had been laden with peanut butter. Bethany was allergic to peanuts.

Liam had eaten my noodles, then gotten intimate with Bethany. Hence, the hospital stay.

He resumed his icy demeanor.

I called once, asking when he’d be home to sign the divorce papers.

His response was furious. “Kara, stop bothering me! Bethany is in the hospital because of you! I can’t believe how jealous you are. She and I are just friends. We got the marriage certificate, we had the wedding, what more do you want? Do you want me glued to your side every second of every day? Can’t you just be gracious and be nice to Bethany?”

Gracious? Gracious enough to give my husband to another woman? It wasn’t acceptable before, but now, it was.

He was yelling, with Bethany’s soothing voice occasionally cutting through.

“Kara, Bethany’s defending you! Do you have to be so mean?”

If you hadn’t eaten my noodles before getting intimate with her, she wouldn’t be in the hospital. Who’s being mean to whom?

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “It’s my fault. I’ll apologize to Bethany tomorrow.”

An apology wouldn’t hurt.

I didn’t care anymore. Soon, it would all be over.