On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days.

She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days.

On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats.

On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron.

On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them.

That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in.

On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping.

On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day.

I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out.

What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies.

This time, I was done playing her game.

Vera Lloyd held the divorce agreement when she found me. I hid in my home studio and worked on the final details of a surprise I had prepared for our seventh anniversary.

It was a 220 by 140 oil painting that had taken me an entire month to complete. I was two brushstrokes away from finishing it.

“I left the divorce agreement on the table. If everything looks fine, go ahead and sign it. Austin is waiting for me outside.”

My hand froze around the paintbrush. I was sure I had misheard her.

“What?”

Vera frowned. “I want a divorce. Do not worry, it is only for seven days. After that, you will still be my one and only husband.”

The absurdity of it hit me all at once. I opened my mouth to speak, and Vera cut me off.

“You promised me on our wedding day that you would give me one chance to make a mistake. You are not going back on that now, are you?”

I had said that. I had also made it clear that it did not include affairs or falling for someone else.

The pain felt almost unbearable, and I forced myself to stay steady.

“Does it have to be today?”

Rain poured outside, and it was our wedding anniversary.

Eight years earlier, on a day just like this one, Vera had walked into my life under a deep navy umbrella. I still remembered the smell of rain on the pavement, and I remembered her umbrella too, how the sixth rib had a faint patch of rust along the middle.

Vera clicked her tongue and shut the window with an irritated snap.

“Sean, was I not clear enough? I am not actually trying to divorce you. I am doing this to keep a young guy happy. Once his birthday passes next week, I will remarry you right away.”

A knock sounded at the door, and a young man in a white shirt peeked inside. “Vera, are you almost ready? Our movie is about to start.”

He pouted, and even that looked boyishly charming on him.

“Alright, alright, give me a second, you little prince.” Vera ruffled his hair with easy affection, then turned back to me. The warmth left her face at once.

“You see this, Sean? I have somewhere to be. Sign the papers.”

I dipped my brush into the paint and spoke quietly. “Does it have to be today?”

Vera paused, then let out a short laugh. “Obviously. Since when do you need a special day for a divorce?”

I did not argue this time. I picked up a pen and signed.

The moment Vera walked out the door, I placed the final brushstroke on the canvas.

“Vera,” I called after her.

“Do you know what today is? It is our seventh wedding anniversary.”

Vera stopped, and her voice sounded flat and calm.

“I know. Austin kept pushing, and I did not want to make him sad.”

The door shut behind her with a sharp click, and their voices drifted back through the wall.

One of them said, “Stupid rainy day. It got my sneakers all dirty.”

The other one said, “Yeah, stupid rainy day.”

My knuckles turned white around the paintbrush. I reached to dip the brush out of habit, then realized I had nothing left to paint.

If Vera had walked only two steps farther into the room, she would have seen what I had spent a month creating. It was the day we first met.

I stood in silence for a moment. Then I reached for the black paint in the corner and poured the entire can over the canvas. I grabbed another, then another, until every trace of the image disappeared beneath the dark surface.

When nothing remained, I pressed the divorce agreement flat against the wet paint and wrote in small white letters along the bottom.

“Vera, I will not be remarrying you.”

…

That night, Vera did not come home. She sent me a single message.

“I’ll be staying at Austin’s for the next seven days. Get some rest. Seven days from now, nine in the morning, we’ll meet at the city hall.”

I had not replied yet when Austin Bennett posted on his social media. It was a close-up photo of their hands interlocked, fingers threaded together.

“Officially divorced. My seven-day exclusive.”

In the photo, the ring finger on Vera’s left hand was bare. The only sign that anything had ever been there was a faint pale line where the ring used to sit.

There was nothing left to show that she and I had ever loved each other.

It was only then that it sank in that I was actually divorced. I raised my own hand and tried to take off my ring, only to find that the band that had slipped on so easily five years earlier now refused to move past the knuckle. No matter what I tried, it did not budge.

Maybe I should leave it, I thought. It was only a ring. It did not have to mean anything.

Then Austin sent me a photo.

Vera’s missing wedding ring hung from his dog’s collar, a small tan thing that looked barely bigger than a stuffed animal. In case I had not seen it clearly, Austin had taken thirteen more photos from different angles, each one with a smiling emoji underneath.

He ended it with a message.

“Hey Sean, Vera says if you’re going to do something, do it properly. So for the next seven days, I’m afraid you and my dog are a matching set.

“Sending love.”

The color drained from my face. I called the jeweler who had made our wedding bands and told them I needed the ring off by tomorrow, whatever it took.

The next morning, a staff member from the jewelry store came to the house to help. My assistant, Sophie Carr, who was usually full of chatter and energy, kept stopping herself mid-breath like she was trying not to say something.

“What is it?” I asked.

She pressed her lips together and chose her words with care.

“Sir, I received a billing notification from the Litton Hotel. It was a luxury couples suite with a full truckload of roses included. The name on the booking was Austin’s.”

I said nothing, not because it hurt, but because I suddenly remembered that Vera had once sent me roses too. Nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine of them, so many that two arms could barely hold them.

She had said, “If every rose is one measure of love, then I want to give you nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine of them, so you never have to envy anyone else.”

It was strange how women tended to recycle the same gestures.

The front door opened. Vera walked in quickly, a cluster of marks along her neck that she made no effort to hide. She glanced around the living room and asked without much thought, “Why are there so many people here?”

I did not look up. “The jeweler. They are here to get the ring off.”

Vera stared at me. “We have six days until we remarry. Why would you take it off?”

“You took yours off too.”

That caught her off guard. A flicker of guilt crossed her face before she huffed and muttered, “So dramatic.”

She turned and stormed upstairs, calling for the housekeeper to pack her things.

Sophie told me quietly that Vera had been wandering around up there, drifting in and out of rooms, and that every so often she stopped and looked down toward where I sat.

I smiled a little and did not think much of it.

Ten minutes later, the jeweler’s staff member came downstairs looking apologetic.

“Sir, the ring is too tight. I am afraid there is no way to remove it as it is. The only option would be to cut it, but since you work with your hands, I would strongly advise against taking that risk.”

I paused for a moment.

“Then cut it off.”

“No!”

Vera’s voice rang out before anyone else could speak. She came running down the stairs so fast that she almost tripped on the last step.

“Sean, I am not letting you cut it.”

The outburst caught everyone off guard, Sophie most of all. In all the time she had worked for me, she had never seen Vera lose her composure like that.

“Ms. Lloyd?”

Vera seemed to catch herself. She cleared her throat.

“I do not want you hurting your hand. The last thing I need is you coming to me crying about not being able to paint anymore. It would drive me crazy.”

She paused, then raised an eyebrow as if she remembered something. “Where is the painting you made for me? I have time to look at it now.”

“I burned it.” I kept my eyes down and my voice flat.

Vera stared at me. “What? How could you burn it?”

She stepped toward me, ready to argue, when her phone went off. It was her group chat with her friends.

“Vera, we heard you got divorced? Something this big happened and you did not tell us? Are we even still friends?”

“Seriously Vera, news this exciting and you did not let us celebrate with you?”

“We saw your new guy, and he is young, I will give you that. Not like Sean. Did you not used to complain he had all the passion of a wet blanket? Bet you are happy now.”

Laughter spilled out of the phone’s speaker and filled the room.

Vera fumbled to silence it, then turned to me, flustered.

“Sean, it is not what you think. They do not know this is a temporary divorce. They are just talking.”

I made a quiet sound of acknowledgment, then walked her and her luggage to the door and saw her out.

It was the first time I had ever seen Vera look truly lost for words.

The door closed. The room grew very quiet, and it stayed that way for a long time. Sophie stood off to the side, and I noticed her eyes were redder than mine.

“Sir… I mean, Sean…”

I gave her a small, steady smile.

“Go ahead and cut the ring off.”

For the next several days, Vera did not come home. What she did do, strangely enough, was send gifts, one every day without fail.

She sent a foreign painting I had once liked online, a set of mineral pigments I had mentioned wanting in passing, and even a standalone mountain villa on the outskirts of the city that I had put off buying for years. Each gift arrived with a small note stuck to the back.

“Five more days until we remarry.”

“Four more days until we remarry.”

“Three more days until we remarry.”

The second to last gift was a diamond watch that had appeared in one of Austin’s posts, engraved with the words “Love of My Life.” The moment I saw it, I had a feeling it had been meant for someone else.

I was right.

At the last exhibition I held before leaving the country, Austin pushed through the crowd and stormed onto the stage in front of all the press.

“Sean, can you give the watch back to me?

“Vera gave it to me as a token of her love. She said I was the only one she would ever love.

“I can let go of anything else. Just not that.

“Please. Do not take away what my girlfriend gave me.”

He made a scene, tears and all, but the grip he had on my arm was surprisingly tight. When I pulled free, he stumbled backward and fell, making enough noise to ensure everyone in the room watched.

I had barely processed what was happening when Vera burst into the hall. She took one look at Austin, red-eyed and crumpled on the ground, and her anger lit up at once.

“Austin, are you okay?”

She turned on me. “Sean, if you have a problem with me, take it up with me. Why would you go after someone like him?

“No wonder my mother always said you were rough around the edges. She was right.”

Vera shoved me hard. My lower back struck the edge of the podium, and the pain bent me nearly in half.