No Forgiveness, Goodbye

On our fifth wedding anniversary, sycamore leaves drifted down one after another outside the window, gathering lightly along the balcony railing, casting a faint autumnal mood. I stood in the kitchen brewing coffee, steam rising from the white porcelain cup carrying the rich scent of coffee beans, slowly blurring my vision. From the entrance came the soft sound of keys turning. Mark Collins pushed the door open, casually slipping off his dark gray suit jacket as he stepped inside. "I booked your favorite Western restaurant tonight," his voice carried a trace of fatigue. "Just finished the meeting—hope I'm not late?" I looked back at him, noticing a small, light brown wine stain on the collar of his shirt, as if he'd accidentally brushed against something. "Not late," I said, pushing the freshly brewed coffee toward him. "Have a warm drink first. Did the meeting run long?" "Hmm, the project review meeting—it dragged on until now." He took the cup, and just as his fingertips brushed the rim, his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. I didn't think much of it and turned to grab the cushion on the sofa—he had always complained about his back hurting while watching TV, so I had specially got a softer one. At three in the afternoon, the doorbell suddenly rang. I opened the door, and the courier handed me a heavy cardboard box. "Please sign here; the sender's name wasn't written." I carried the box into the living room, and as I peeled off the tape, an inexplicable numbness crept into my fingertips. There was nothing else in the cardboard box—just a stack of photos and a pink lace lingerie piece with the tags still attached. In the first photo, Mark Collins stood in the hotel hallway, his arm wrapped around a woman in a white dress. I recognized the woman's face—she was the junior Mark often mentioned, Ruby Jones. Blood rushed to my head instantly. My hand clenched the photos, trembling so hard that my knuckles turned white. The lingerie was clearly two sizes smaller than mine, and the price tag gleamed with a silver shine. That evening, when Mark came home, I placed the cardboard box on the coffee table and sat on the sofa nearby, waiting. He paused while changing his shoes, then walked over and asked, "What is this?" Seeing the contents of the cardboard box clearly, his face instantly went pale. "How long are you going to keep pretending?" My voice trembled, but I forced myself to hold back the tears. Suddenly, he reached out and tore the photos; paper scraps fell to the floor like shattered snow. "It's not what you think! She came onto me; I pushed her away! Really!" "You pushed her away?" I picked up a torn photo stained with coffee and held it up to him. "Then what about this lingerie? Did she force that on you too?" "I..." He opened his mouth, his eyes darting nervously, avoiding my gaze. "It's just a misunderstanding. Can you please not hold onto such a small thing?" "A misunderstanding?" I smiled, but tears rolled down my cheeks, dripping onto the back of my hand. "We've been married five years. To you, is our relationship something that can be shattered so easily by a 'misunderstanding'?" "That's not what I meant." Suddenly, he gripped my wrist so hard it hurt. "Give me one more chance. I'll cut her off completely, never contact her again, alright?" I forcefully shook his hand off, leaving a red mark on my wrist. "No need," I said, looking into his eyes, speaking each word deliberately. "Let's get a divorce." He was stunned, his face slowly shifting from pale to a dark, sullen gray. "Don't be ridiculous! You want a divorce over a few photos?" "It's not about a few photos," I said, picking up my phone and opening the divorce agreement template I had saved long ago. "It's because I can't live with a man who lies all the time anymore." He suddenly snatched my phone and slammed it hard onto the floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb, fragments bouncing beneath the sofa. "I won't agree to a divorce!" His voice rose, trembling with anger. "After all these years, you think we can just break it off?" "The feelings ended long ago," I crouched to pick up the phone shards, unaware my fingertip was bleeding. "From the day you were with her, it was over."