Till the Ninth Break Do Us Part

Steven Zimmer, the assistant of my wife, Lucy Quinn, has lost in a truth-or-dare session. Lucy doesn't hesitate to file for a divorce from me for the ninth time.

In the courthouse, I hear the staff member asking Lucy curiously, "Your husband is like a well-trained dog now. You've already married and divorced him nine times! Aren't you worried that your husband might ditch you for real?"

Lucy merely smirks at her. "Do you know that the more ruthless you are when you abandon your pets, the harder it'll be for them to live without you? In fact, they will just become more obedient and docile. As long as I curl a finger at him, he'll definitely sink down to his knees and beg me to remarry him."

Everyone bursts into laughter after that. They bet that I'll plead pathetically to Lucy to remarry me for the tenth time in less than a day after I've obtained the divorce certificate. Lucy even declares that she'll stream the tenth wedding proposal on the Internet when it happens.

But the next day, Lucy keeps waiting for me to show up at the city hall while clad in a wedding dress. All she gets is a text from me.

"No more proposals. This is the end between us, Lucy."

The company had just landed a major deal, and I worked so much overtime that I collapsed at the office with a raging fever.

While I was being rushed to the hospital, my wife, Lucy Quinn, was busy organizing a company drinking party to celebrate her assistant, Steven Zimmer's first day.

When Lucy called me at the hospital, there was no concern in her voice. She impatiently told me the waiting period was over and ordered me to pick up the divorce certificate.

She had timed it perfectly. There was exactly one hour left before the mandatory 30-day waiting period ended. Once it passed, the divorce would be finalized.

It felt as if all the blood in my body froze at once. I stood there stiffly, phone raised to my ear.

This was the ninth time Lucy was divorcing me.

We married nine times, divorcing and remarrying again and again. Hope and despair chased each other in a vicious loop.

The first time she divorced me, she said I was old-fashioned and predictable, even in bed.

The second time, she said I was too stable, too dull. I was nothing like her young assistant with his energy and spark.

The next six divorces followed the same pattern, each one coming with a new excuse, each one cutting a little deeper.

Listening to the clink of glasses on the other end of the call and the drunken laughter slurring together, I understood perfectly. This ninth divorce was nothing more than a truth-or-dare stunt at her drinking table.

The pleas I wanted to voice stayed trapped in my throat. Lucy had always said the thing she hated most was my clinginess.

At that moment, I was