For three years, we held a wedding in name only—my husband, Kit Rutgers, a pilot, canceled our marriage registration eighteen times.

The first time, his female trainee, Katy Ferguson, had a test flight.

I waited outside the county clerk’s office the whole day.

The second time, he got a call from her mid-drive, made a sharp U-turn, and left me standing on the side of the road.

After that, every time we planned to make it official, some crisis with Katy mysteriously arose.

Eventually, I chose to walk away.

But the moment I boarded a plane to Solara, he lost his mind—and chased me there.

We had been married for three years, but Kit Rutgers still hadn’t made it official with me.

Today marked his one-thousandth successful flight—a major milestone—and the seventeenth time he had promised to go with me to register our marriage.

But during the celebration banquet, while his commanding officer pressured me into drinking, Kit sat across the table, feeding and clinking glasses with his female trainee, Katy Ferguson.

Meanwhile, I fought through a high fever, drinking until I nearly blacked out, and he didn’t even spare me a glance.

Many of our colleagues sighed and shook their heads, their eyes full of pity and disapproval.

Anyone with any sense could tell who I was forcing myself to drink for.

And yet, after the banquet, when he was supposed to take me to the county clerk’s office, Kit broke his promise yet again.

He pulled the car up to the restaurant entrance and stretched an arm across the passenger seat to stop me from getting in.

“Katy’s had too much to drink, so I’ll take her home. You take a cab,” he said.

“As for the registration this afternoon… we probably won’t make it. Let’s talk about it another day.”

Without waiting for a response, he jumped out of the car and carried Katy into the front seat.

Five years of dating, three years of marriage—and this marked the seventeenth time Kit had postponed our marriage registration because of Katy.

At times like this in the past, I would have already broken down, crying and yelling, demanding to know: who was really his wife? And who had just taken the drinks for him?

But this time, I simply smiled and said, “Alright. Take care and drive safely.”

He seemed surprised by how composed I was, but only for a moment.

Then he regained his cold demeanor and said, “I’ll bring you a gift tonight to make up for it.”

With that, he drove off.

Before leaving, he even leaned over to roll up the window for Katy, worried about how the cold breeze might affect her while in her drunken state.

He used to hate the smell of alcohol in his car, so every time I had a drink on his behalf, even in winter, he would keep the convertible roof wide open.

Looking back now, I realized it was only because the one in the car had been me.

The midday heat in Silverport was enough to soak your clothes in sweat, but my heart felt strangely frozen.

I took a deep breath and slipped the marriage registry forms back into my bag.

I knew it was time to let go, not just of today, but of all eight years we had spent together.

That afternoon, I returned to the office and handed in my resignation letter.

“Does Kit know you’re quitting?” my supervisor, Holly Thatcher, asked in surprise.

After all, I had been the airline’s top flight attendant for seven consecutive years—a shining star with a bright future ahead.

I gave her a faint, bitter smile. “I’ll tell him tonight, though I doubt he’ll care.”

She sighed.

“You two started flying new routes together and won all those company awards. Even the CEO attended your wedding three years ago. Everyone was so envious… but—”

She trailed off with a heavy sigh, her voice thick with regret.

Yes, those were beautiful memories.

And that’s all they would remain, things you couldn’t return to, no matter how much you wanted to.

By the time I got home, it was already past ten.

The apartment was eerily quiet.

Then my phone lit up with a notification from Katy’s latest social media post in which she had tagged me in.

[Thank you to my teacher, Mr. Rutgers, for staying with me all afternoon! As a reward, I’m taking him to Bruno Mars’ concert tomorrow! Can’t wait!]

I knew then—Kit, who had said at lunch he would come home, wasn’t coming back.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened in the three years since we married.

I made myself a simple bowl of instant noodles and opened my inbox.

Staring at over a dozen offers from international airlines, my cursor hovered over the email from Air Montclaire.

I clicked “Accept” and booked a flight the day after tomorrow to Solara without a second thought.

Five years ago, during a mission to Solara, Kit experienced the most traumatic incident of his flying career.

From that moment on, the city became a forbidden word.

Not only did he stop flying there, but he never let me fly there either.

“Once I set foot in Solara, we’ll never meet again, Kit,” I thought to myself.

The next morning, I woke up and immediately began packing my suitcase.

I was only halfway through when Kit walked through the door, wearing a pale pink dress shirt.

Trailing behind him was a strong wave of rose perfume.

The scent hit me hard, and I froze for a moment.

He used to hate the smell of perfume.

For that reason, all these years together, I never wore any.

I had even thrown out my entire collection, including bottles I had cherished for years.

But now I understood—he didn’t hate perfume. He just didn’t like it on me.

He paused briefly when he saw me packing, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Katy sobered up very late last night,” he said.

“I booked a hotel room alone and stayed there—that’s why I didn’t come home.”

I glanced up at him in surprise.

It was the first time in our three years of marriage that he had ever offered an explanation for his absence.

I nodded, saying nothing.

He slowly stepped closer, looking down as he asked, “Are you packing for a flight assignment?”

I nodded again.

“Something like that.”

At my answer, he seemed, for reasons I couldn’t quite name, to exhale in relief.

Then he added, “I’ve got a few things to take care of today. Just stopped by to grab something. I won’t stay for lunch.”

“Alright.”

I didn’t look up and kept packing my suitcase.

I had planned to tell him over lunch that I’d quit my job, to finally draw a full stop on our eight-year relationship.

But that was not going to happen now.

Kit grabbed a red paper bag, picked up the jacket hanging by the door, and rushed out.

Just then, the picture frame that had hung by the doorway for eight years suddenly fell to the floor.

Glass shattered across the tiles.

I glanced over.

It was a photo of us at our first concert together. Our hands were clasped together, grinning like we had no care in the world.

That night, he had promised me that no matter how busy life got, he’d take me to a concert every year.

But once Katy became his student, he forgot all the promises he had made to me.

The clock ticked steadily in the empty room.

I sat still for a long while before quietly sweeping up the broken glass.

Then, I tossed the photo, along with whatever affection that still lingered in my heart, into the trash.