Chapter 1


    I received a pornographic video.


    “Do you like this?”


    The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven’t seen for several months. He is


    n*ked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I


    can’t see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the pping sounds


    in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts.


    “Yes, yes, f**k me hard, baby,” the woman screams ecstatically in response.


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    “You naughty girl!” Mark stands up and fl*ps her over, pping her buttocks as he speaks. “Stick


    your ass up!”


    The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed.


    I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It’s bad enough that my husband


    is having an affair, but what’s worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Be.


    I let the video y, watching and listening to the two of them having S*x, my disgust being provoked


    time and time again. Every time I hear their moans, my heart feels like it’s being stabbed.


    The cheating continues. After a few more ps, he grabs her buttocks, thrusts his penis deep into


    her vagina, and starts pounding vigorously.


    After a few more thrusts, Mark and Be moan together as they climax. They copse on the bed,


    k*ssing and caressing each other’s faces.


    “Do you treat my sister like this in bed too?” Be’s coquettish voice rings out,


    “Don’t mention her,” Mark’s ruthless voice echoes, “I haven’t even k*ssed her, she can’tpare to


    you at all.”


    “I knew you only loved me!” Be smiles satisfied, hooking Mark’s n*eck, leans in to k*ss him, and


    says, “I want to do it again!”


    Seeing them rolling together again, I feel a wave of nausea and can’t watch anymore. I angrily


    press the pause button, swallowing hard.


    I am very clear, this video must have been sent by Be. She wants to tell me that she still holds


    Mark in her grip, and I am powerless against it. Apart from a certificate and title, Mark and I don’t


    resemble a married couple at all. Be indeed knows how to twist the knife further.


    Three years ago, on that fateful day I never imagined was going to begin the worst turning point of


    my life, all was made ready to celebrate the union of Be and Mark. It was only mere minutes to


    the wedding when Be disappeared


    or at least found out she was gone. Be was nowhere to be found.


    My parents, who were desperate to salvage the embarrassment and save face in front of the guests


    or whatever it was they were trying to protect that day, turned to me. They told me to put on my


    sister’s wedding dress, to take Be’s ce at the altar.


    There was no room for argument, neither was I given the choice to say no. I was to be the


    figurehead, the stand-in bride who’d fulfill the ceremony in Be’s absence. There were no words of


    blessing and no well-wishes for a happy future. Instead, all I received were instructions to “be a


    good wife.”


    This was how it all started.


    I was left numb, standing there in the borrowed wedding dress to exchange vows with a man I


    barely knew. It felt as though my dreams and aspirations were suddenly overshadowed by the


    harsh reality of my circumstances. Like my life had been snatched away from me in an instant, and I


    barely recalled what happiness felt like after that day. I was constrained in every sense of the word.


    Did I say this was how it all started?


    No, I think it actually dated way back to when I was three and had unfortunately gone missing. For


    eighteen long years, I lived away from my home and family. Growing older. As I grew older, from


    being a child, to a teenager and then a young adult, I kept searching for my roots again. And when


    my long-awaited dream of reuniting with my family became reality, it was nothing like I’d expected.


    There was no joyous reunion, no tears of happiness.


    Instead, I was met with something close to indifference.


    As if I were a stranger who had wandered into their lives. My parents seemed to have moved on


    from me after all those years I was gone. All the love they had was for Be; barely any left for me.


    I guess there was nothing left, in fact, because if there was, I would at least be pitied enough to


    have been told that Be had returned from abroad and had somehow found her way into my


    husband’s arms.


    Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with an iing video call from Be. I didn’t want to


    answer it at first, but ended up swiping green. Be’s face popped up on the screen, sitting in the


    same room from the video with a towel wrapped around her b*dy.


    “Hi, hope you’re having a happy day over there,” Be chirped with a smug smile.


    She moved the phone’s camera around to show more of the room, and in the background, I caught


    a faint glimpse of Mark walking into the bathroom.


    “Guess who’s going to die a pathetic old virgin? Not me!” Sheughed callously.


    I silently clenched my teeth. I was reeling with annoyance from the insult.


    “He doesn’t deserve you,” she added “He deserves better. And I’m what’s perfect for him, darling.”


    There was no way I was going to listen to any more of that. I angrily ended the call and flung the


    phone to the bed, then burying my head in my hands.


    I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to sit still and let myself he dragged to the ground like a piece of rag


    any longer.


    By the time Mark would return to the house, it was already well into the night. I sat on the cold tiles


    of the living room, hanging my chin on my palm and nearly dozing off when I heard the sound of the


    front door clicking. That familiar musky scent of his followed him in as well, and I could swear I


    could smell Be on him too.


    My eyes blinked open, and I raised my head, locking a nk gaze with his face. There was that


    brick-hard look on his face which he always had when I was around. To think of how he was


    grinning from ear-to-ear earlier with Be.


    After our marriage, everything I’d been told by my parents to do, I did. Both taking care of his food,


    his daily life, and several other things that couldn’t be counted, all for three years. It started


    happening frequently, that it became a ritual, like a dance of habit ingrained in my daily routine.


    Mark also epted it without question. But not for one day did Mark spare me as much as a


    second nce.


    Mark shut the door behind him and began walking into his room. Treating me as usual like I was


    invisible, and for the first time, I spoke.


    “I want a divorce.”


    He turned to face me, an incredulous look on his face.


    “What are you talking about?”


    “I don’t want this title of wife anymore,” I answered without mincing words.


    That day three years ago, when I stood in that white dress, and him in his tuxedo, a congregation


    behind us and a preacher in front of us and saw that calm look of restrained anger in his eyes when


    he saw that it was not Be behind the veil, but me.


    I remember my ch*st tightening behind the diamond n*e I was wearing. The way his stare


    burned. How stupid and helpless I felt in that dress. How my parents smiled like they’d not just


    pushed me out there against my will and the congregation cheered with probably no idea of what


    was going on.


    “You may now k*ss the bride,” the pastor announced.


    Mark leaned closer towards me, but not for a k*ss, he merely brushed his face past my cheek and


    spoke into my ear, “The only thing you can get is the title of wife.”


    And that title is what I was giving back to him. I didn’t want it anymore. I wished I’d never let myself


    take it in the first ce. I’d let go of too much of myself and endured more than I needed to. It was


    the height of it already.


    “I want to get a divorce, Mark,” I repeated myself in case he didn’t hear me the first time—even


    though I knew he’d heard me clearly.


    He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, “It’s not up to you! I’m very busy, don’t waste


    my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!”


    How typical of him to believe that I was trying to get his attention. I hadn’t attracted that so-called


    attention of his for over three years and it when I mention a divorce he remembers it.


    Thest thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him.


    “I will have thewyer send you the divorce agreement,” was all I said, as calmly as I could muster.


    He didn’t even say another word after that and just went through the door he’d been standing in


    front of, mming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit


    absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and ced it on the table. Don’t even


    ask why I had it on in the first ce.


    I grabbed my suitcase, which I’d already had my things packed in and headed out of the house. The


    wind outside felt different afterward, like a heavy burden was being lifted off my shoulders for the


    first time in a very long while. The feeling of the night breeze blowing through the strands of my hair


    was immacte.


    Grabbing my phone from my purse and swiping my fingers quickly across the screen, I put the


    phone to my ear, hearing it ring.


    “I am divorcing,e pick me up.”