I Married And Divorced My Wife Nine Times

After losing a bet to her adopted younger brother, Peter Conroy, my wife, Ruth Davis, divorced me for the ninth time.

I had told her then that if we remarried for a tenth time and divorced again, I would marry someone else.

She only laughed and said, “Will, you even donated part of your liver to me. How could you possibly marry anyone else? Besides, apart from me, who would want to marry a broke loser like you?”

On the day of our tenth remarriage press conference, Peter left her a key to a beach house and made a bet with her. If she could find him in three hours, he would stay and wish us a lifetime of happiness.

The moment Ruth saw the key, her expression turned hesitant. She tore up the remarriage statement and ran off without hesitation.

Three hours later, Peter posted a photo on social media. They were lying on a bed in the beach house and admiring the ocean view. I read the caption.

[If someone really cares about you, they will cross mountains and seas just to find you.]

Without telling Ruth, I withdrew the remarriage application and made a call I had not made in a very long time.

“Julienne, is your proposal from back then still valid?”

Her voice trembled with barely restrained excitement. “For you, it’ll always be valid.”

The guests at the venue exchanged uneasy glances.

“Ms. Ruth has gone too far. She is actually remarrying Mr. Will for the tenth time because of her adopted brother. How could she ditch him at a moment like this?”

“Exactly. Mr. Will treated her so well. He even donated part of his liver to save her. Old Mr. Dauchy practically disowned him over it.”

They looked at me with sympathy.

Even outsiders could tell that Ruth Davis had gone too far.

Her mother, Mallory Davis, quickly grabbed my arm and said anxiously, “Will, hurry and explain things to everyone. Ruth just went home to deal with a family matter. Just announce the remarriage first.”

As I looked at Mallory, the woman who had always claimed she treated me like her own son, I felt a surge of anger building in my chest.

“Mallory, do you really think everyone here is stupid? I’ve used that same excuse nine times. Do you expect me to say it a tenth time too?”

Mallory’s expression darkened immediately. She said with displeasure, “As you said, nine times. So, what is one more? You won’t even say something to defend Ruth. Is your love for her even real?”

She spoke as if the request were perfectly justified.

Over the past two years, ever since Ruth’s adopted brother, Peter Conroy, returned home, we had gotten married and divorced nine times.

Every single time, she gambled our marriage against Peter in some bet.

Every single time, she had lost without exception.

The first time, she lost a game and announced our divorce at my birthday party.

The guests at