My best friend got divorced. When I said I wanted one too, everyone laughed. My husband, Blake, laughed the loudest. "Your friend has a career and a degree. She can be beautiful and independent without a man. Do you have a degree? Do you have your own money? And you dare to talk about divorce?" I dropped out of an Ivy League school to help him build his company from the ground up. Now, that was a stain on my record. He thought I was no longer good enough for him. Seeing my silence, Blake's laughter grew louder, crueler. "So why are you even trying to keep up? What would you have without me? Could you even survive? You want to be like her? You're not worthy." "Yes," I said quietly. "I can." I thought Blake was hilarious. I could walk away with half his fortune. I could go anywhere, find any man I wanted. Why couldn't I survive? 1 The laughter in the private lounge intensified. Even my best friend, Phoebe, was teasing me. "Zoe, you adore your Blake. You'd never leave him. Besides, where would you find a man as good as him?" Blake sipped his whiskey, his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. He took a drag from his cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring. "She's just getting ahead of herself. Thinks she can leave me and find someone with my kind of status." One of Blake’s friends nearly fell off his chair laughing. "Zoe, if you actually divorce Blake, I'll do a handstand and take a crap, I swear!" Another one chimed in immediately. "Hahaha! You'd have to take laxatives for that! I'll be there to film it!" "Hahahaha!" Even the young hostess sitting next to Blake giggled. "Mrs. Thorne, we all know you'd never leave Mr. Thorne! A man like him? If you let him go, there's a line of women waiting to take your place." This was Hannah, the girl from the club who served the drinks. She knew perfectly well I was Blake's wife, but she was still pressed up against him, her body practically draped over his. No one seemed to think anything of it. After her comment, the room erupted in another wave of laughter. I usually hated places like this. I only came tonight because Phoebe was celebrating her newfound freedom. I turned to Hannah first. "So, that line of women includes you, then?" The smile froze on her face. "Mrs. Thorne, I was just kidding! Mr. Thorne would never be interested in me!" She pouted and looked at Blake. "She can't even take a joke!" Blake’s smile had vanished. His expression was unreadable. "I was joking too," I said, my voice flat. "Why are you so worked up? Can't you take a joke?" Hannah opened her mouth to retort, but a subtle shift in Blake's expression stopped her. She lowered her head, her eyes red with fake tears, and started pouring drinks for everyone. Blake's Friend #1, clearly feeling sorry for the hostess, grumbled at me, "It was a joke, Zoe! Everyone knows Blake is yours. No one's trying to steal him! He'd never divorce you, you can relax!" I looked at him, my face a mask of calm. "So, when I do get a divorce, you'll be here first thing to perform your spinning handstand shit, right?" He was speechless. Friend #2 slapped the table, laughing even harder. "Zoe, you're hilarious! Hahaha! The way she says it with a straight face is so funny! Hahahaha!" I turned my calm gaze on him. "And when he starts his performance, please make sure you stand close. Get an even coating. Then send me the video. I'll post it online so everyone can enjoy it." He stared at me, dumbfounded. The jovial atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a strange, tense silence. This was Phoebe’s party. She tried to break the awkwardness. But I wasn't done with her either. "He's such a great man, my husband. Why don't I give him to you? You're single now. You two would make a perfect pair. What do you think?" Phoebe stared at me, a whole segment of orange in her mouth. She forgot to chew, swallowing it whole. "Cough, cough, cough..." Finally, I looked at Blake. Every eye in the room followed mine. His brow was furrowed so tightly it could have crushed a fly. "Zoe! Everyone is just joking. What is the point of making this so awkward? Apologize to them. Now." "No, no, it's fine!" Phoebe said quickly. "Zoe and I always talk like this. She was just kidding! Today is about celebrating my new life. Zoe, don't be a spoilsport. Let's raise a glass to me!" "To Phoebe!" "To being single!" Everyone stood up. Phoebe was trying to defuse the situation. So I smashed my glass on the floor, letting the "spoilsport" act play out to its conclusion. Blake exploded. He flipped the entire coffee table over. "Zoe! I've given you enough slack! Phoebe gave you an out, and you wouldn't take it! What, you think you're better than all of us? If you don't apologize today, I'm divorcing you!" "Fine. Let's do it." I took out my phone and sent him the divorce agreement. "Read the terms. If you have no objections, I'll print it out tonight, and you can sign." Blake’s rage turned to shock, then to utter disbelief. He looked up, searching my face for any sign that I was joking. He must have seen it clearly—the date on the document was from six months ago. I grabbed my purse and left without a backward glance. I had long since grown sick of these self-important "high-society" gatherings. They always used me as the butt of their jokes, and Blake always laughed along with them. I had told him before, "Don't invite me to these things anymore. I don't like it." He’d said, "They're my business partners, my friends. You're my wife. You need to get along with them. Besides, they're just joking. Zoe, you're not a child. Why can't you take a joke? Don't be so sensitive." He always said that. Sometimes, I wondered if I really was too sensitive. I asked Phoebe once. She was a successful career woman; her opinion held weight. "Blake's company is just getting started," she'd said. "His friends are just teasing you to have some fun, to make conversation. It's business. Don't take it seriously. It's all for Blake's career." Later, Blake's company grew more and more successful. His "partners" became his clients. They depended on him for their livelihood. But they still used me as their favorite topic of conversation whenever I was around. Even the hostesses and waitstaff felt free to laugh at my expense. And Blake would still say, "Don't be so petty. It's just a joke." Yes, they got used to joking. And I got used to being the joke. But I knew the reason they didn't respect me was because Blake didn't respect me. They were just trying to please him. 2 Blake's Friend #1 brought him home. He was completely drunk. "Zoe, he's all yours. I-I'm leaving!" He didn't dare say another word and scurried away. See? Even a doormat can grow thorns if it stands up for itself just once. I had always held back for Blake's sake, because I respected him and his degenerate friends. "Water... water..." Blake mumbled, leaning heavily on my shoulder. I helped him into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and aimed the spray at his mouth. He drank greedily, then slid down the wall and fell asleep on the tiled floor. I went back to our room and went to sleep. The next morning, I woke to the sound of Blake roaring. "Zoe! You just left me to sleep in the bathroom! Ah-choo! Where's breakfast? Where's my hangover cure? Why is there nothing to eat?" The doorbell rang. My takeout had arrived. I walked past the fuming Blake and grabbed my food. "Don't even look. I ordered for one. If you're hungry, order your own." Blake's chest heaved. He slapped the food out of my hands, sending it splattering across the floor. "You've been acting crazy since last night! Are you tired of this life or something?" "Yes." He froze, seeing the calm on my face. A flicker of panic crossed his features, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Are you trying to start a rebellion?" "We're a married couple, not a monarchy. It's not a rebellion. It's an irreconcilable difference." I placed the printed divorce agreement in front of him. "Sign it." His laugh was cold. "For seven years, every penny in this house was earned by me. What have you contributed, besides cooking my meals and washing my clothes? And you have the nerve to ask for a divorce? Have you no shame? Your friend Phoebe is an Ivy League graduate. She's got money, looks, and a career. Her husband wasn't good enough for her, so she could trade up. You? What do you have without me? You want to be like her? You're not worthy. "Last night, everyone was just joking around. And you're blowing it up into this? Have I ever mistreated you? Women your age are slaving away in corporate jobs, living in tiny apartments. You're a pampered wife in a mansion with a luxury car. I don't get it. What more could you possibly want? Do you know how many women are after me out there? How much temptation I face? But I've never cheated on you! Zoe, have things been too easy for you? Are you looking for trouble?" I couldn't remember the last time he had said so much to me at once. "Stop having a meltdown," I said calmly. "Just sign it, and we can go to the courthouse. It's open by now. I'll head over first. Don't be late." In an argument, the one who talks the most loses. At least, that's how it was with us. It used to be me, always apologizing, trying to smooth things over, then making him dinner and running his bath. Blake saw that his long speech had earned him nothing but a flat, indifferent reply. He snapped. "Fine! Have it your way! Zoe, don't you dare regret this! After the divorce, I'll be a prime bachelor, and you'll be a washed-up divorcée! We'll see who remarries first!" 3 It turned out getting a divorce was more complicated than I thought. There was a mandatory one-month "cooling-off" period. If either party changed their mind, the whole process had to start over. As we left the municipal building, I asked him, "You're not going to change your mind, are you? Because starting the cooling-off period all over again would be really inconvenient for me." Blake's face, which had just regained some composure, turned crimson with rage again. I had stolen his line. "Zoe! You are unbelievable! I can't wait to see how you survive without me." He pulled out his phone and sent a voice message to his group chat. "Boys, time to celebrate! I'm getting a divorce! Let the pre-bachelor party begin!" I was in that group, too. It was the one Phoebe had made last night. All his friends and the hostess, Hannah, were in it. Hannah was the first to reply with a fireworks emoji. The others followed suit. Only Phoebe sent a question mark. 【Wait, are you guys serious?】 Blake replied: 【Zoe insisted. I'm just giving her what she wants.】 Phoebe immediately tagged me: 【Zoe, they were just joking yesterday. Why are you taking it so seriously? Just apologize to Blake and let it go! Where would you even go without him, honey?】 Blake stood beside me, preening like a peacock. His expression said it all: See? You have no friends. Even your best friend is on my side. Just apologize, and we can call this whole thing off. I pressed the record button. "I get half his assets. I can go anywhere I want. And I can find any man I want." The silence in the group chat was deafening. Blake stared at me, stunned. "Zoe," he finally managed, "I dare you." He threw the words at me like a gauntlet and stormed off. Despite his temper, Blake had never been stingy. He gave me a three-million-dollar monthly allowance, which I barely touched and deposited into our joint account. He had seen the divorce agreement and signed it. He had agreed to the terms, which clearly stated the division of assets. When the day came, he would give me my share. Phoebe, probably feeling guilty, came to my house to talk me out of it. "Blake isn't cheating on you. At his level, women throw themselves at him. Hell, even at my level, young guys hit on me all the time, and I can't always resist. But Blake just flirts a little. He never crosses the line! You're being ridiculous. He gives you three million a month and he's faithful to you. What are you complaining about? Are you seeing someone else?" That was her conclusion. What Phoebe didn't realize was that I had stopped wanting to hang out with her a long time ago. Whenever she asked, I'd make excuses. We used to be inseparable. But after we got married, things changed. Phoebe's husband was an underachiever from a poor background who couldn't handle his wife's success. She was always complaining about how useless he was. And after complaining, she'd always say, with a sigh of envy, "I wish I were as lucky as you, finding a man like Blake. If I had a husband like that to go to bed with every night, I'd be smiling in my sleep." She said it to my face, and she said it in front of Blake. Over time, it made me more and more insecure. I was always afraid he would leave me. Blake was my high school sweetheart. He went to a state college, then started his own business after graduation. I was in my sophomore year at an Ivy League school. Blake told me that even the best education just leads to a life of corporate slavery. It was better to be your own boss. He asked me to drop out and join him. The day I left school, my parents' world collapsed. They locked me in my room to keep me from him. I climbed out the window and took a bus to the city that night. During those early years, we lived in a basement, slept on park benches, and collected cans and bottles to survive. Life was hard, but I never once thought about leaving him. Later, when his company took off, he came back with me to see my parents. He knelt before them, offering them sacks of cash. He built them a luxury villa and donated generously to our hometown. At every donation ceremony, he would proudly declare, "This is my wife's hometown, which means it's my hometown. Without my wife, I wouldn't be where I am today." My parents were so proud. They thought I had married the perfect man. The whole town held me up as an example. "Marry a good man like Zoe," they'd tell their daughters. Back then, Blake gave me all the respect and recognition I could ever want. I could see the love for me in his eyes. But now, he just sat there and laughed while his friends made a mockery of me. He had become arrogant, always looking down on me from his pedestal, as if I were nothing more than a kept woman. He didn't respect me anymore. Maybe… he just didn't love me anymore. And love, it seems, can disappear. After Phoebe left, my parents came. "What is all this nonsense? Is Blake not good to you? You're a housewife with no degree, no skills, no career. What will you do without him? Phoebe told me he's not even cheating on you. He's done nothing wrong. For someone with your qualifications, a man like Blake is the best you can do. You'll never find anyone better if you divorce him!" They were the ones who had tried to stop me from marrying him all those years ago. Now they were the ones trying to stop me from divorcing him. I really didn't understand.
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