The Final Countdown to Goodbye

My husband, Charles Corbett, and I are both liars.

He lied about forgetting his first love, but I discovered she was the muse for an extravagant art commission.

I lied about playing the part of Mrs. Corbett forever, secretly planning a future without him.

A month ago, I tricked Charles into signing a document. It was not an ordinary financial statement; tucked inside was a notarized divorce agreement.

Today, the agreement takes effect.

Three hours left. I cleared all my belongings from our penthouse apartment and booked a flight to Seattle.

Two hours left. I shredded every photo of us together.

The final hour. I considered leaving a note, then decided it was pointless.

Today marks the end of a decade of loving him, and the first day of my life without him.

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1

When I arrived to deliver Charles Corbett's quarterly investment portfolio, I overheard him on a call in his office.

"Olivia is finally coming back. Are you still planning to take Cherry on that anniversary trip?"

Charles just hummed noncommittally, repeatedly glancing at his watch. "Why isn't she here yet?"

But I knew he was not waiting for me.

He was in a hurry to get to the Teterboro private airport to pick up his childhood sweetheart, Olivia Monroe. Today was the day she returned from Europe.

Years ago, she had gotten engaged to a European aristocrat to secure her family's interests. In a fit of pique, Charles married me, his obscure college classmate.

Three days ago, Olivia broke off her engagement.

That night, Charles got blackout drunk. After sobering up, to cover for his emotional breakdown, he had casually suggested we make up for our fifth-anniversary trip.

It was just a cheap trick, a way to provoke Olivia when she returned. My marriage, from start to finish, was just a pawn in their game.

When I pushed open the door, Charles held out his hand impatiently.

"The documents."

I handed him the folder I had prepared.

Tucked into the second-to-last page was the divorce agreement I had secretly slipped inside.

"There's an urgent addendum. The lawyer said you should review it carefully when you have time."

But I had deliberately chosen this exact moment, because I knew one thing.

He would not take the time.

Just as I expected, he flipped directly to the last page to sign.

"I'm in a rush to pick someone up. No time to read. Since you prepared it, I'm sure it's fine."

A flicker of tenderness crossed his eyes—the look he got when he pictured seeing Olivia.

His impatience was for me; his tenderness was reserved for her alone.

He scrawled his signature and left, giving me nothing but the sight of his retreating back.

I had been married to him for five years. He was not cold to me, not entirely, but it was the kind of detached politeness one reserves for a business partner.

I had once tried to win him over, hoping he would grow accustomed to my presence.

But even in exclusive interviews with Forbes or the Wall Street Journal, he always maintained a vague, unattached public image.

Any gossip headline revolved only around his and Olivia's tumultuous, "Romeo and Juliet" tragedy.

As for me, his hidden wife, I was never even granted a name.

After all, Charles had a childhood sweetheart, a woman he adored.

The day Olivia broke her engagement, this man—so ruthless and decisive on Wall Street, a man who never showed his emotions—got completely wasted, a giddy smile plastered on his face the entire time.

Even when he looked at me, a dazed smile played on his lips. Was he seeing me as a substitute?

I took care of him late into the night. Then, I used Olivia's birthday to unlock his MacBook.

I opened an encrypted folder. The storage was nearly full.

It was filled with draft after draft of a digital art piece titled My Muse.

Every sketch, every detail, was of Olivia.

There was no trace of me.

The final version was a looping video, an animated portrait of Olivia looking over her shoulder as if caught in a gentle breeze.

I remembered when we got our marriage license. Charles refused to have a wedding, citing privacy and insisting we keep the marriage a secret.

Now I understood. He was waiting for her to come back.

In that moment, I knew.

Our five-year marriage was over.

All that remained was to plan one last, elaborate farewell.

My one-month countdown had begun.

Coincidentally, the belated anniversary trip Charles had promised was scheduled for exactly one month away. The day our divorce would be finalized.