Chapter 1

Sylvia Hart was stunned.

She looked at me as if she didn’t know me.

“What did you say?”

I repeated myself.

“I said, since I’m not the man of the house here, then of course I should leave.”

The male coworker beside her, Ryan Walsh, immediately tugged at her arm.

“Sylvia, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have registered my fingerprint. I’ll delete it right now. William, don’t be mad. I really just thought it would be more convenient.”

His voice was gentle, his eyes filled with apology, but that apology never reached the bottom of his eyes.

Sylvia immediately defended him. “It has nothing to do with you. William, don’t overthink it. It’s just a fingerprint. Ryan often comes over to work overtime or drop off documents, and I don’t want him waiting at the door every time.”

After she said that, she frowned at me.

“What’s gotten into you today? Why are you being so immature?”

“Immature?”

I gave a short laugh.

“Right. I’m immature. I should stand at the door and applaud you and your male coworker, welcoming him home, right?”

I turned and went back inside. I didn’t even step into the living room. I picked up my bag and headed straight out.

Sylvia chased after me and grabbed my wrist.

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

“Let go.”

“William, can you stop making a scene? Ryan is watching.”

I shook off her hand and pulled the door open.

“Let him watch. Let him get a good look at how the man of the house gets driven out.”

I didn’t look back.

The door shut with a loud bang.

I got into the car but didn’t start it right away.

Sylvia and I met through a blind date.

I was twenty-nine. She was twenty-seven.

We were both at that age, and our families were pushing hard.

The person who introduced us said Sylvia was honest, had a stable job, and came from a decent family.

My parents were very satisfied.

When I met her, she really didn’t talk much and seemed steady.

At the time, I had just ended a five-year relationship. I was exhausted and didn’t want to throw myself into some passionate romance again.

I thought finding someone stable, living together as partners and getting through life, wouldn’t be bad.

On the day we registered the marriage, I asked her, “Sylvia, do you have any expectations of me?”

She said, “Just be home. Don’t control me too much.”

I said, “Okay.”

For the first year after we got married, that was exactly how we lived.

I did my thing. She did hers.

She worked overtime, went on business trips, drank with friends. I never asked.

I thought that was a kind of respect, a tacit understanding between adults.

I worked hard to play the role of a good husband.

I cleaned the house, cooked, washed and ironed the clothes she changed out of.

My parents said that marriage was just like that—plain and ordinary.

I believed them.

I thought we could keep treating each other with polite distance like this forever, until today.

One male coworker’s fingerprint made me understand that what I thought was our home, in her eyes, was only a hotel where she could bring other people back whenever she wanted.

If someone was already stepping all over me, what was there left to endure?

Then let’s get a divorce.

The moment that thought appeared, I suddenly felt my whole body loosen.

I started the car, drove far away, found a restaurant, and ate dinner alone.

After dinner, I drove home.

When I opened the door, the living room lights were on.

Sylvia and Ryan were sitting on the couch, watching TV.

On the table were the snacks and fruit I’d bought yesterday.

When they heard the door open, they both turned to look at me.

Ryan immediately stood up. “William, you’re back. I’m sorry, I…”

Sylvia cut him off. “What are you apologizing for? Sit down.”