Tina lived in the same community as us. She invited me to go back with her, but I declined.

Tina admired me, and I didn't want to develop feelings with the opposite sex that I couldn't handle.

Deborah was the complete opposite. Ever since Terry joined the crew, there had been no boundaries between them.

After going home and washing up, I felt tipsy and planned to go to bed.

My phone rang.

"Honey, how to make hangover soup? Terry is throwing up badly," she said.

Deborah was frantic on the other end of the phone.

"I don't know," I replied.

"Honey! Stop messing around, will you? Just teach me quickly so I can make it for him and come home. Otherwise, you'll be waiting for me until midnight again," she complained.

"The hangover soup you used to make for me. It's simple, right? And how do you cook the oatmeal?" She asked again.

"Just look it up online. There are tons of tutorials. Take your time to learn. I won't wait for you. I'm going to bed," I said, hanging up the phone.

I busied myself in the kitchen while she just needed to open her mouth. Of course, it was easy for her.

Fake drunkenness threw her into a panic, and here she was, in the middle of the night, acting as a caretaker for her beloved. Disgusting!

When I had gastroenteritis on set and was vomiting and having diarrhea, ending up in the hospital, she didn't worry at all.

Well, it wasn't her fault. She was busy disinfecting and bandaging Terry, who had deliberately scratched himself while on wires.

I begged her to take me to the hospital, but she said she had no time for me and fussed over Terry's hand like a mother with her son.

When I was discharged, Terry's wound had long since healed without a trace.

I must have been out of my mind to teach her how to take care of another man. This time, no one could force me to lower my head.

Her claim that she was coming home was just a lie.

I wouldn't be a lovesick fool waiting for her to come home anymore.

In the past, no matter how late it was, I would wait for Deborah to come home and cuddle up to sleep together.

Now, I slept alone in the big bed, without her crowding me to the edge or stealing the covers. I slept particularly well.

Suddenly, a loud crash woke me up.

I opened the door to find Deborah bringing Terry home.

"What are you doing in the middle of the night?" I sulked.

"Thomas Howard, what do you mean? I come home in the middle of the night, and you don't wait up or leave the lights on? Terry and I nearly tripped in the dark!" she said.

What right did she have to demand I leave the lights on for her and her ex-boyfriend?

Should I also hand them water and play music while they slept together?

"I told you I was going to bed. I thought you weren't coming back," I countered.

Deborah thought I was explaining, so her tone softened.

"Since you're awake, make some oatmeal for Terry. The one you're best at will do," she said.

I glanced at the living room, and my temples throbbed.

Their clothes and shoes were thrown carelessly on the floor, and worst of all, Terry had tossed his stinky socks next to my water glass before collapsing into sleep.

"Thomas! I've been calling you for ages. Why aren't you moving?" Deborah sulked.

"Why should I make oatmeal for him? You can take him out to eat," I replied.

"No restaurant has food as good as yours, and they're all closed anyway. Plus, he loves your oatmeal. It only takes you two minutes to make. Don't you know he's been throwing up bile? He has stomach issues," she said.

I couldn't help but laugh in anger at her nagging.

"Why should I care?" I replied.

But this explained why she had insisted on bringing breakfast to the set recently. She never got tired of oatmeal.

Turned out she was feeding her ex-boyfriend with the breakfast I made.

Unbelievable!

"Deborah, if I were you, I wouldn't have the nerve to come home, let alone say such things," I said.

"It's just something you can do in two minutes. It's easy for you," she said.

Her face turned cold, and she threw her bag at my face.

The hard metal decorations cut my face, and a sharp pain hit me. I touched my face and found it was bleeding.

Terry, who had been pretending to sleep on the sofa, jumped up and scolded me, "Thomas, is this how you usually treat Deborah?"

I couldn't be bothered to argue with them and went straight back to my room to sleep.

Deborah jogged over to stop me.

"You have to cook the oatmeal before you can sleep," she said.

For the first time, I found her so bizarre and unfamiliar.

A compromise was impossible. I pushed her aside, locked the door, and went straight to sleep.

The room had good soundproofing. Whatever they wanted to do was none of my business.

The next day, when I got up to use the bathroom, the lingering yellow filth mixed with a foul smell in the toilet made me nauseous.

There was even a puddle of water mixed with hair on the floor.

I used to worry about Deborah slipping, so every time she finished showering, I would clean up.

I took a deep breath and told myself not to get angry. Whoever made the mess should clean it up themselves.

I loved Deborah and this home. No matter how busy I was, I would always take the time to keep it clean and tidy.

But that didn't mean I would do it now, because I no longer wanted her, and I no longer wanted this home.

I had given up ever since she repeatedly ignored my advice and insisted on bringing Terry home for the night.

This mess was created deliberately by Terry and Deborah to annoy me.

They knew I had OCD and a cleanliness obsession. Just a bit of mess would upset me.

And for the sake of my peace of mind, I always endured and cleaned up.

Before Terry returned from abroad, whenever I upset Deborah, she would mess things up to punish me.

I would clean up while coaxing her, and she enjoyed it immensely. At that time, it was a unique aspect of our relationship.

But now, I see it clearly. She enjoyed treating me like a housemaid, just like last night when she ordered me to take care of Terry.

She never saw me as her husband. She claimed I wasn't an outsider, yet she humiliated me in every action.

I couldn't stay in this house any longer.

I packed my things and went back to my pre-marital apartment to catch up on sleep.

Deborah called, furious, "Thomas! Where are you?"

"I'm sleeping. If you need something, ask Terry, and don't bother me," I replied.

Deborah immediately raised her voice, her piercing soprano hurting my eardrums through the phone.

"The house is such a mess. How can you sleep?"

"I'm not sleeping there, so why wouldn't I sleep well?" I replied.

After enduring over a hundred sleepless nights, why should I continue to torture myself?

"Can't you see the mess at home? I can't stand it anymore," she said.

She couldn't stand the mess she made herself and came to question why I wasn't cleaning it. What kind of twisted logic was this?

"Deborah, I owe you nothing, and I owe Terry nothing. I won't clean up someone else's mess," I retorted.

"What do you mean someone else's mess? Do you still want to live together or not?" she said.

Here it came again!

She always used the same tactic. After countless times, I had gone from initial fear and panic to now being indifferent.

"I don't want to. Let's get a divorce!" I said.

My indifferent attitude pushed Deborah into a full-blown rage.

"Thomas, you said it! Don't regret it!" she said.

Why would I regret it? I only regretted not ending this ridiculous marriage sooner.

The absurdity began with this play.

Deborah and I were supposed to be the main characters in this play.

I worked tirelessly on the script until the shoot began, only for Terry to use tricks to steal the lead role.

The second male lead wasn't bad, and I wanted to challenge a villainous role, so I agreed.

As a result, Deborah brought Terry home and made me teach him the lead role scene by scene.

Even the director called, saying time was tight and hoping I could help.

The exchange of the lead role seemed to reflect my real life.

Deborah was a crazy person. An hour later, a video of her and Terry passionately kissing on the street went viral online.

"Thomas, are you satisfied?" She asked.

"As long as you are satisfied," I replied.

My calm demeanor surprised her.

"Aren't you angry? Aren't you going to argue with me?" She asked.

Did she deliberately come to find me just to see me go crazy over love again?

Unfortunately for her, she was bound to be disappointed.

I was no longer the clown who would go mad and lose control because of their kiss.

Instead, at this moment, she resembled a clown.

Deborah couldn't accept my calmness.

"I get it. This is the calm before the storm. I'm warning you, don't cause any trouble!" she said.

I sneered, "You're overthinking it. Irrelevant people aren't worth my anger."

Facing my seriousness, Deborah became a bit flustered.

"Thomas, do you not love me anymore? Aren't you supposed to be jealous?" she said.

"Weren't you the one who said you didn't like me being jealous? Jealousy is harmful and makes me look vicious!" I snorted.

I was just stating the truth, but Deborah thought I was being sarcastic.

"Can't you be reasonable? Couples argue and make up. Why don't you understand my intentions?" she said.

"We're getting a divorce, so there's no need to argue," I replied.

I handed her the divorce agreement that I had prepared in advance.

"There's no point in saying more. Let's divorce."

She took it and glanced at it, tears streaming down her face.

"Thomas, are you serious?"

"This marriage no longer has a reason to exist!"

If I didn't know she had ulterior motives, I might have been softened by her tears again.

She tearfully tore up the divorce agreement.

"Thomas, you bastard!" she cursed.

"I kissed Terry because we were surrounded by fans. They wouldn't let us go unless we kissed. Do you have to make a big deal out of it?

"The new drama is launching. We were just putting on a show for the traffic."

"No need to explain to me. I don't care," I said.

I handed her another divorce agreement, and Deborah's emotions erupted.

"I don't agree! Don't even think about divorcing me!

"Now I'm very angry! Apologize and make it up to me right now!"

After being pampered by me for many years, she thought of herself as a princess.

I pointed to her belly.

"What wrong have I done? You're about to become a mother. Can you be a bit more mature?" I said.

Deborah's face changed drastically.

"What did you say?"

How confident was she to believe her perfect deception was flawless?

Or did she think I loved her so blindly that I couldn't see the truth?

Deborah was pregnant, but unfortunately, the child wasn't mine.