Chapter 4

On the last day of Julian's week as man of the house, Vivian told me to come back to the house.

She said the seven days were over.

She would give me back my keys, my ring, and my final paycheck in person.

It was also time, she said, to deal with what was going on between us.

The front door was open a few inches. Before I pushed it, I could already see the living room through the gap.

It was set up the way it always was when she announced the game was over.

Champagne, a cake, streamers. Nothing was missing.

But this time, the walls were covered with photos from the last three years.

Me arguing with them. Me walking out. Me tearing up the agreement from their game.

Under every photo was a bet.

This year, they were betting on how many minutes it would take me to cave after I saw the divorce agreement.

Julian was sitting in my usual spot, spinning my car keys around one finger. The Whitmore ring was on his right hand.

Vivian stood next to him.

Someone started teasing them.

"One Ms. Whitmore and one Mr. Hale. Owen's not even here yet. You two might as well come clean."

"Seriously. He folds every single time. What are you two still pretending for?"

"I saw you walk out of a hotel together on the sixteenth last month."

"Your collar couldn't even cover the hickey, and you're still calling yourselves best friends?"

Outside the door, my hand went still.

The sixteenth of last month.

That day, my stomach hurt so badly I could barely stand up. I called Vivian three times.

She said she was in a meeting and couldn't leave. She told me to take something for it, and if it got worse, to drive myself to urgent care.

She had not been busy.

She had been in a hotel room with Julian.

I had driven myself to urgent care that night. I had sat in the waiting room alone, checking my phone every few minutes in case she called back.

She never did.

While I was doubled over in a plastic chair under fluorescent lights, my wife had been in bed with her best friend.

In the living room, Julian looked at Vivian like he had been given permission. He stood up, put his hand on her waist, and kissed her.

Vivian did not push him away.

I stood outside the door and watched my wife let another man kiss her in the house we had picked out together.

I waited to feel something break.

Nothing did. Maybe there was nothing left to break.

When Julian finally pulled back, she frowned, as if she had just remembered something. Her voice dropped.

"Owen's taking it too far this time. Let's not do this game anymore."

When I heard that, all I could think was how ridiculous it was.

They had slept together, and she still called it a game.

And she was not ending it because it was wrong. She was ending it because I had stopped playing along.

I took a breath and pushed the door open.

The noise in the room was gone.

No one was teasing anymore. All that was left was a room full of something no one had had time to clean up.

A divorce agreement sat squarely in the middle of the coffee table.

There was a flicker of unease on Vivian's face that she had not hidden fast enough. But mostly, she looked certain.

Certain that I would give in, the way I had for the last three years.

Someone laughed.

"Owen, two years ago you got halfway through signing the fake one before you ripped it up."

"Don't chicken out this time."

Julian looked at me and kept his voice light.

"Don't take it seriously, man. Viv just wants to be sure you still love her."

Vivian leaned back against the couch, completely sure of herself.

"All you have to do is admit you're jealous, apologize to Julian, and put your ring back on."

"Then we shred this right here."

I opened the agreement.

The division of property, the house, the details of our marriage. All of it was real.

Her attorney's signature was there, and so was the notary's stamp.

To make me believe it, Vivian had actually had a valid divorce agreement drawn up.

She still did not think I would sign it.

She even had one of her friends point a phone at my face.

They were ready to record me losing it for the fourth time.

Three anniversaries.

Every one of them had ended with me apologizing to the people who hurt me.

They were sure this one would end the same way.

Someone started counting down.

Before the countdown ended, I picked up the pen.

A smile was already forming at the corner of Vivian's mouth.

She probably thought I would do what I did two years ago and shove the agreement back at her, demanding to know if she meant it.

I did not argue. I did not hesitate.

At the bottom of the last page, I signed my name one letter at a time.

The laughter in the room stopped.