Seven Years of Winter Before Spring

On the night of my wedding, my best friend's younger brother wiped the sweat from his forehead and asked me, “It’s a little big. Can you handle it?”

I stared at his perfectly defined abs, my mind going completely blank. “What?”

He repeated, “Can you handle it?”

My voice jumped an octave from my panic. “Aren't we supposed to take things slow? Isn’t this way too fast?”

That night, the sound-activated lights in the house flickered on and off until dawn.

Meanwhile, my ex-husband was squatting downstairs. His eyes were swollen red from crying, but I did not even spare him a thought.

Back then, when I agreed to let him proceed with a fake wedding with his childhood sweetheart, Miles Carter thought our cold war was over.

When he explained things to me, he said, “Vivian and I will only be married on paper. The ceremony is just to satisfy my mom. I swear, when this is over, we’ll live as a real couple.”

I remained silent. I just stared at the countdown on my phone, counting the days until I could finally leave. He did not know that the moment he tricked me into signing the divorce papers, our marriage had already ceased to exist.

After Miles Carter’s mother became bedridden and tore up their marriage certificate for the ninth time this year, Wendy Yanes felt utterly exhausted.

She looked down at the torn certificate in her hands. It was stained with the soup Belinda Howard had thrown earlier.

Every time Belinda lost her temper, their marriage certificate seemed to be the first she reached out for.

“What are you staring at?” Belinda leaned against the hospital bed. Her voice was sharp. “If it weren’t for you, would I even be lying here in this damn bed?”

Wendy quietly picked up the pieces from the floor. Her fingers were cut by the sharp edges of the paper.

She kept silent, merely brushing the soup stains from her white dress.

“Stop playing the victim!” Belinda grabbed the water cup from the bedside, ready to throw it. “Get out! Just seeing you annoys me!”

The cup whizzed past Wendy’s ear and smashed against the wall, shattering into pieces.

She slowly stepped out of the room, gently closed the door behind her, and leaned against the corridor wall, taking a deep breath.

The smell of disinfectant stung her nose, bringing back memories of countless nights spent in hospitals over the past two years.

She pulled out her phone and sent a message to Miles: [Honey, how about hiring a caregiver for Mother? She’s acting up again today…]

The message was marked as read, but no reply came.

Wendy stared at the screen for ten minutes before locking her phone’s screen. She decided to go to the civil affairs office to replace the torn marriage certificate.

The office was not crowded. Wendy handed the damaged certificate to the clerk, who examined it, checked the system, and frowned.

“Ms. Yanes, there are still