I gave up the life of a privileged London socialite to live for ten years in a cramped rented apartment with my boyfriend, Arturo. But on our wedding day, he abandoned me to tend to his ailing first love, Luciana. As I stood there, the guests coldly judged and mocked me, while Arturo posted a sugary message online: "Excited for our new family model of 1+1=3." It was accompanied by an ultrasound scan and a cozy photo of him with his first love. Calmly, I liked the post and then asked Arturo for a divorce. But he dropped to his knees before me, eyes red, pleading with me not to leave.

The next day, Arturo's call came late. As soon as I answered, a sweet, delicate voice greeted me:

"Sorry, Zendaya, I wasn't feeling well yesterday, and I didn't expect Arturo to miss the wedding because he was worried about me."

"I told him off for your sake."

"And about that Facebook post, I've already asked him to delete it. Don't dwell on it."

After a pause, her teasing voice continued:

"Arturo, you're all grown up now, yet you still act like a foolish child when things go wrong."

"Back in college, you did whatever I asked. After all these years, nothing's changed."

"The way you behaved yesterday, how do you think Zendaya would feel?"

"Listen up, take some time and reschedule the ceremony. I can handle things here."

Her tone was accusatory, yet sugary enough to make my stomach turn. I suppressed the nausea, ready to speak when Arturo's voice interrupted:

"Lie down and rest, don’t be impatient now that you're starting to feel better."

"If you don’t take it easy, I won't be able to take care of you anymore."

His gentle tone, like a dagger piercing my heart.

"Arturo, since you're occupied, I won't keep you. I'll send over the divorce papers in a couple of days. Don’t forget to sign them."

I cut off their sickly sweet conversation.

"Zendaya, are you done yet? You're almost thirty and still playing these divorce threats?"

"Luciana explained everything to you just now."

"I'm already dealing with enough, don’t add to my troubles."

His voice rose in frustration. I smirked.

"Don’t add to my troubles."

Arturo said this often. My care and concern were seen as nuisances. These words had become his mantra when dealing with me. Previously, when he'd say this with a furrowed brow, I'd immediately apologize, reflecting on my actions. I sought his forgiveness, promising not to repeat it. Even when I couldn't pinpoint what I'd done wrong, I was the one bowing down.

"Arturo, I'm not making threats, just stating a fact."

This time, I'm done. Exhausted.

Realizing the shift in my attitude, Arturo hesitated, his tone softened noticeably:

"Zendaya, do you have to hold onto this? Luciana suddenly fell ill yesterday, and I had to calm her down."

"A wedding is just a ceremony; it can happen any day."

"As for the Facebook post, it’s just words and photos. Compared to a life, what really matters?"

"Zendaya, weren't you always the most understanding? Why have you changed?"

"You've become such a disappointment."

Luciana, Arturo's patient. His first love, and the elusive longing in his heart. Her tearful voice came through the line:

"Zendaya, it's all my fault, don’t blame Arturo. If you’re really angry, I'll kneel and apologize."

Pathetic.

I let out a cold laugh:

"If you're truly sorry, don’t just say it."

"I'm home now, come over and kneel, apologize to me."

Silence. They hadn't expected me to genuinely demand Luciana kneel. Her sobs grew more anguished, while Arturo comforted her sweetly and unleashed his fury on me:

"Zendaya, how dare you be so petty? What did Luciana do wrong to apologize to you!"

"I haven't made you apologize yet! Yesterday at the hospital, your calls nearly ruined Luciana's chances of treatment."

"I was blind to want to marry you. You want a divorce? Fine! Don’t regret it!"

Before I could respond, the call ended abruptly.

Though I was determined to see Arturo's true nature, my heart still twisted painfully as the call ended.

Arturo wasn't wrong about feeling superior; I did pursue him first.

We met at a party. Arturo was a rising star at the hospital, and I was the daughter of a leading medical device company. I fell for him instantly, starting a long chase.

An old saying goes that a woman's pursuit of a man is like a veil, easy to lift. But that didn't apply to me. I chased Arturo for two years, confessing dozens of times. His emotions were unpredictable, warm one day and cold the next, leaving me puzzled about his true feelings.

Eventually, I grew tired. I decided to give up and planned to study abroad. But Arturo stopped me at the stairwell.

"Zendaya, why did you stop pursuing me?" he asked. "I won't let you give up."

After kissing me, he held me close, breathing heavily in my ear. His sudden confession upended all my plans, leading me to cancel my flight to the Alps the next day.

Arturo came from a humble background. To protect his pride, I moved out of my family’s mansion into his rented apartment. When I decided to marry him, my family advised against it. But Arturo was worth it, and I chose love over comfort.

Since Arturo had no savings, we only got a marriage certificate without a wedding ceremony.

"Zendaya, wait for me. I want to earn and give you the grandest wedding myself, to prove to everyone that I can make it!" he'd say.

"You’ve been through so much," he murmured many nights, holding me tight and making promises over and over.

I responded with passionate kisses, believing I was the happiest woman alive.

Until Luciana appeared.

After losing her baby abroad, Luciana suffered severe depression and became Arturo's patient when she returned home.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. But slowly, Arturo's attention drifted away from me; his world now held more than just his work and our home, increasingly filled by Luciana.

Luciana caught a cold; I’ll take her to the hospital for an IV drip. Sorry, I won’t make it to tonight’s Thanksgiving dinner—please tell Dad for me.

Luciana's moving today; she has no family or friends here. I’ll help her out.

Luciana's emotions are unstable today, and I’m worried about leaving her alone at home; I won't be coming back tonight.

Arturo grew increasingly distant, his excuses more flimsy each time. We argued about this, but whenever I brought up Luciana, he'd react defensively, as if struck.

He accused me of being petty and unreasonable.

"Luciana’s my patient; is it wrong for me to care for her more?"

"Zendaya, I think you're bored being a housewife, and that’s why you imagine these things. I already work hard to support you; can you stop making things difficult?"

A housewife? Causing trouble?

Arturo, I wasn’t born to be a nuisance, an unwanted housewife.

Once, I dreamed of becoming a top-tier designer but now find myself tied to household chores and fighting over you with another woman. And why?

Because of you, I gave up on my dreams.

Time has faded everything. Arturo’s forgotten what was once important, leaving only criticism and disappointment for me.

After each argument, I apologized first, seeking peace. Caught in this cycle, I gradually accepted everything—choosing to step back and endure.

After all, my love for Arturo was undeniable.

I thought as long as I avoided the truth, as long as I didn't tear everything apart, Arturo would still be mine—that we'd remain the perfect couple to everyone else.

I realize now how terribly wrong I was.

My tolerance emboldened Luciana, diminishing my importance to Arturo.

At this wedding, Arturo, the groom, abandoned me for Luciana.

I can't forget the disappointment when Arturo's phone didn’t connect, the guests' sympathetic and mocking glances, the sorrow in my parents' eyes as they arrived dressed for the occasion.

Arturo, no matter how much it pains me, this is where we end.

After deciding to get a divorce, I booked a flight to the United States. I also put the city center apartment on the market with a real estate agency. It was the home my family had given us, Arturo Patterson and me. Arturo was initially too proud to move in, worried people would see him as dependent. To spare his ego, I gave up my privileges, opting to share a cramped rental with him for six years. Now, with plans to go abroad, keeping the apartment seemed pointless.

When I returned from the agency, Arturo was sitting on the couch. "Where have you been? I called you, but you didn’t pick up. Do you know how long I've been waiting?" His tone was accusatory, as if I had committed some major offense. "Shouldn't you be at the hospital with Luciana? What do you want from me?" I asked with restraint.

"Zendaya, stop being so sarcastic!" he shot back. "I've told you a hundred times; Luciana is just a patient. If you don’t believe me, that’s your problem. Go to the store and pick up a chicken. Luciana is hurt; she needs chicken soup to feel better." His request flowed out as if it were totally reasonable. I was speechless.

Once I regained my composure, it was clear that the man in front of me was shameless. As the silence stretched, he grew impatient, nudging my shoulder and pushing, "Why are you just standing there? Hurry up, or the freshest chicken will be gone. And don’t forget the thyme and carrots; add them in while cooking. Remember, Luciana hates greasy food, so skim the oil before serving."

Even though I was deeply disappointed with Arturo, his requests reminded me of the years we'd spent together. I had always put him first, and he took it for granted without ever returning the care. He didn’t know my favorite food, color, or clothing brand. Two years ago, after I had an appendectomy, I asked him to make me oatmeal. All he did was frown: "Zendaya, your spoiled princess attitude doesn’t cut it here. If you want oatmeal, order it yourself."

Since then, I’d stopped asking him for anything like that. I foolishly believed Arturo was just too focused on his work to understand women. Now, I see the truth: it’s not that he didn’t understand; he simply didn’t care to understand me.

Fighting back tears, I remained silent. Arturo saw my reddened eyes and shifted uneasily. Softening his voice, he continued, "I know skipping the wedding was my fault. I'm sorry, but I had an emergency at work. As a doctor, I had to be there. I thought you'd understand, being married to a doctor. About the wedding, haven’t you always wanted to see the French countryside? How about a destination wedding there next month?"

Arturo hadn’t forgotten his agenda. Even after his lengthy apology, he was stuck on Luciana’s chicken soup. Tired of the argument, I brushed past him and headed toward the bedroom.

"Zendaya, I'm giving you a chance; don’t throw it away!" Arturo shouted after me. "I'm helping you make things right. You liked Luciana’s Instagram post, and there was backlash. She’s been upset for days. It’s a miracle she hasn’t made a bigger deal of it, and you're sulking?"

As I moved away, Arturo’s suppressed anger bubbled over. "Don’t come crying later!" he warned as I closed the bedroom door, responding with, "Just remember to sign the divorce papers."

The only thing left was Arturo’s furious yell, followed by the sound of the door slamming.