It was their seventh wedding anniversary.

Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand.

The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years.

*"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"*

His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed.

But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions.

First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her.

Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand.

Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line.

*"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."*

…

Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her.

On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation.

And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married.

That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her.

Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life.

Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her.

Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger.

*"Urgent business. Won't be back."*

She called, only to find his phone already switched off.

Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend.

Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media.

*"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"*

In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck.

The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel.

Carolyn’s breath caught.

He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period.

And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week.

It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen.

She’d asked Roger why.

A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things.

Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall.

In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds.

But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it.

For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake.

She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger.

He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her.

Yet he gave it to Catherine.

Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored.

The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing.

Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity.

And Carolyn had known nothing.

She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself.

Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored.

The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight.

*"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."*

*"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."*

Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart.

She never once suspected Roger and Catherine.

For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn.

But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant.

Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."*

Carolyn had laughed it off.

Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed.

Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything.

While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton.

While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip.

Catherine had even complained online.

*"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"*

And Roger had replied beneath it.

*"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."*

But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer.

She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements.

All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

Every timeline matched.

A fist seemed to slam into Carolyn’s chest, the pain stealing her breath.

She looked at her own reflection—meticulous makeup ruined by tears, the long-cold dinner on the table.

It all felt like a cruel joke.

After a long silence, she dialed a number she knew by heart but hadn’t called in years.

*"You still want to marry me off to that Bruce bastard, right?"*

*"As long as he doesn’t mind I’m divorced, I’ll marry him."*

If seven years of marriage bought only betrayal, then she wanted none of it.

Wiping her tears, Carolyn prepared to call a lawyer to draft her own divorce papers.

Then an anonymous text flashed on her screen.

*"Come to Royal View Villa now. There’s a good show for you to see."*

The villa was lavishly decorated, worth at least ten million.

She climbed the staircase. From behind a slightly ajar door came the sound of low, ambiguous moans.

Inside, two pale bodies were pressed tightly together.

"Be gentle. I haven't finished my period yet."

Roger kissed Catherine deeply, his eyes holding a tenderness Carolyn had never seen before.

"Don't worry, I won’t cross that line. Just be good—I’ll hold you, that’s all."

Catherine pouted. "And when you get too worked up? You’ll still run back to your wife."

A flash of impatience crossed Roger’s eyes.

"I don’t want to touch her. The only time I’m with her is out of obligation. Usually, just the sight of her feels dirty."

Carolyn stumbled back two steps. A sharp, sickening pain lanced through her heart.

Soon, a voice message arrived from Catherine: "You saw, didn’t you? He’d rather just *hold me* while I’m on my period than go back and *lay a finger on you*."

"You probably don’t know this, but we actually had a child before. It was just a miscarriage."

Carolyn’s heart ached until it went numb.

How could she not know?

The reason Roger had written that divorce agreement—the one demanding she leave with nothing—was because Catherine was pregnant.

She typed out a line and sent it.

"As you wish. I don’t want this man anymore."

Carolyn went to a law firm and drafted a new divorce agreement. She didn’t ask for much—just an equal split of assets.

If it really went to court, Roger was the at-fault party. He’d only lose more.

But she didn’t want to turn this marriage into a war. She just wanted out of the whole mess.

The immediate priority was getting Roger to sign.

She sent Catherine another message.

"If you can get him to sign the divorce agreement, he’s yours."

Two days later, Roger came home.

He looked well, with the satisfied air of someone who’d been well-fed. But his gaze toward Carolyn remained as indifferent as ever.

"What’s wrong? You look listless."

Carolyn was taken aback, then shook her head. "It’s nothing."

Just then, a knock came at the door.

"Your seventh-anniversary flowers. So sorry—the blue roses were out of stock the day before yesterday. Delivering them now. Happy anniversary!"

A huge, lavish bouquet of deep blue roses was thrust into Roger’s arms.

He froze, then turned back with a look of surprise. "I’m sorry, I forgot the day before yesterday was our…"

Carolyn gave him a cold look. "Too little, too late. That ship has sailed."

With a slightly placating air, Roger reached for her hand. "Alright, it’s just a late bouquet. Don’t look so stern. Work was busy—I forgot. I’ll make it up to you."

Carolyn ignored him, casually setting the flowers on the table.

Roger was stunned. That flicker of guilt vanished instantly.

"Carolyn, you’re not usually like this."

Her footsteps halted. She turned to look at him.

"Oh? And how *am* I supposed to be?"

Utterly submissive? Obedient to his every word? Grateful for his promise to "make it up" to her?

"It’s just an anniversary, not Christmas. Is the formality that important?"

"Alright, alright," Roger waved impatiently. "I’ll make it up to you today. Change your clothes—we’re going to the mall."

With that, he turned and went downstairs.

A hot surge of resentment welled up inside her.

Still, she thought, perhaps it was best to talk things through clearly.

She hadn’t expected that just after entering the elevator, all the lights would go out.

Carolyn’s heart leaped into her throat. Frantically pressing the alarm button did nothing.

She called Roger, but his line was constantly busy.

Then a text arrived.

"Something came up last minute. Wait for me at home."

Carolyn was stunned. Immediately after, a message came from Catherine.

"Sis, my cramps are killing me. He’s coming over to massage my stomach. Looks like your anniversary is ruined again."

Her blood ran cold.

She had claustrophobia. And with the elevator malfunctioning, it could drop at any moment!

Desperately, she sent message after message to Roger.

"Roger, I’m trapped in the elevator! Please call property management—I don’t have their number!"

"Roger, save me! It’s too dark in here! Please!"

But for a long time, he didn’t reply.

A loud rumbling sound reached her ears. The elevator suddenly plummeted.

Carolyn screamed—and lost consciousness.

When Carolyn opened her eyes, she was in a hospital room.

“You’re awake?” A nurse approached, adjusting her IV. “How are you feeling? When they brought you in, you were white as a sheet—you really gave us a scare.”

From the nurse, Carolyn learned the property manager had rushed her here and immediately tried to contact Roger in the owners’ group chat.

Roger had only snapped, “She’s a grown woman. Is this really worth bothering me about?”

Then he hung up.

Not one message of concern had appeared on her phone.

A bitter ache tightened in Carolyn’s chest. He must have forgotten—she was claustrophobic.

But back in high school, when bullies locked her in that pitch-black storage room, it was Roger who smashed the door open. Ignoring his bleeding hands, he pulled her into his arms.

“Don’t be afraid, Carolyn. I’ve got you.”

His voice had trembled. The next day, he beat those bullies black and blue.

“She’s claustrophobic! Terrified of the dark! Do you realize she almost went into shock?!”

Roger went wild, earning himself a major disciplinary mark.

He also made sure the whole school knew—the lonely, unprotected girl named Carolyn had someone watching over her.

So when had he started to forget?

Carolyn pulled the IV needle from her hand. The nurse gasped. “Hey—what are you doing?”

“I’m fine. I don’t need this.”

“What do you mean, fine? You’re going to be a mother now. You can’t afford to be reckless.”

The words struck Carolyn like a blow. She stiffened, turning back. “A mother? Me?”

The nurse looked concerned. “When you passed out, we ran some tests. Our department head reviewed the results personally. You’re three months pregnant. Didn’t you notice any symptoms?”

Carolyn’s mind went blank. The nurse’s lips moved, but she heard nothing.

Why now? Why, of all times, when they were about to divorce?

Numbly, she walked out of the room, unsure how to face the news.

Just then, Roger came hurrying down the hall.

Carolyn stopped—but he walked right past as if she weren’t there, turning instead toward a consultation room around the corner.

For a moment, she stood frozen. Then, almost against her will, she followed.

It was the gynecology department.

A few minutes later, Catherine stepped out holding a medical report, eyes red. Roger was beside her.

They paused near the stairwell.

Catherine wept. “You heard the doctor. Ever since… since the abortion, my periods have been irregular, and the cramps won’t stop. It’s a uterine lining rupture. I… I might never be able to have children.”

Then Roger’s voice cut in, soft and low.

“Shh, don’t worry, love. We’ll have a child. I promise.”

“I still dream about the baby you lost because of me.”

Catherine sobbed harder. “If our child were still here, they’d be in elementary school by now. Swear to me—swear you’ll only ever have children with me.”

Roger drew her into a tight embrace.

“I swear. Only yours.”

“But what if your wife is pregnant…?”

Roger paused, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

Catherine’s voice turned sharp, desperate.

“Then get a vasectomy—after I’m pregnant!”

Carolyn’s heart clenched.

She expected Roger to refuse, to lose his temper.

Instead, he hesitated only a moment before murmuring gently, “Alright. Whatever you want.”