Chapter 1 — On the day of divorce, I applied to quit my job

On the Day of Divorce, I Submitted an Application to Quit My Job, My Ex-Husband Panic As soon as I held the divorce certificate in hand, I immediately submitted an application to quit my job. The next day, her ex-husband assumed the identity of the new CEO to inspect the company. When he called me personally, the human resources manager's face immediately turned pale.

"Ms. Lam completed the resignation procedures yesterday."

My name is Lam Chieu, working as Assistant General Director at Co Thi Real Estate Group for six years. Six years, to say long is not long, to say short is not short, just enough for a person from the age of twenty-four to turn thirty, from a passionate heart to becoming as calm as a lake without ripples. The chair in the Civil Affairs Department is so hard it hurts. While waiting for the number to be called, Co Hanh, sitting opposite, kept his head bowed while answering the message. The light from the phone screen shined on his face, his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his thumb was continuously scrolling, as if he was dealing with something more important than a divorce. Perhaps it's even more important than the truth. After all, for him, divorce is just another item on the agenda that needs to be completed.

"Lin Chieu, Co Hanh, please come to counter number three."

He stood up, the seams on his trousers were straight, the belt buckle reflected the light. Only when he walked to the check-in counter did he glance at me, his eyes indifferently as if confirming which room the meeting was in today.

"Where to sign?"

That was the first sentence he said to me today, and the only sentence. The employee pointed to the signature area, he bowed his head and put the pen. The tip of the pen rustled across the paper, and three seconds later, the name appeared clearly. Then he passed the pen to me. The pen body still retains the warmth from his palm. I took it and signed my name. Lam Chieu, I have been writing those two words for thirty years, but I have never felt that each stroke of the pen is as heavy as today, as heavy as carving a stele for my own marriage. When the blue divorce book was handed over, the staff usually only said one sentence:

"Please be careful."

Co Hanh turned around and left. His phone rang again. He picked up the phone, his voice calm:

"Um, move the flight to the day after tomorrow. I've seen the contract in Singapore, there are no problems with the terms."

As he spoke, he walked out. The sound of leather shoes tapping on the tile floor was decisive, like a countdown. I stood in place and watched his back disappear through the door, clutching the blue notebook tightly in my hand. The edge of the cover is a bit worn, pinching your fingertips. The marriage lasted six years, it only took him twelve seconds to walk out that door. I counted. It's raining outside, not too much or too little, just enough to make a person wet from head to toe. I didn't carry an umbrella, standing under the awning watching his black Mercedes drive out of the parking lot. When passing in front of me, the car did not slow down, rainwater was kicked up by the tires, splashing half of my skirt. He didn't see me. Or maybe you have seen it. Just doesn't matter. I opened my bag and took out another set of documents. An A4 sheet of paper folded into three, the upper left corner printed with the logo of Co Thi Real Estate. I wrote my resignation letter yesterday afternoon, every sentence and every word was polite and distant, like I was sending an email to a stranger.

"For reasons Due to personal reasons, I resigned."

Personal reasons. Those four words are so convenient. I called a taxi, read the company address. Seeing me standing alone in the rain, the driver gave me a package of tissues:

"Girl, it's raining heavily, wipe it off."

I took it, didn't wipe my face, just lowered my head to wipe off the mud and water splashing on my dress. When we arrived at the Co Thi building, it was already half past five in the afternoon. As soon as Tieu Chu at the front desk saw me, she smiled:

"Miss Lam, General Director Co is not at the company today."

"I know."

I did not go to the forty-second floor, where the General Director's Office was located, but went straight to the thirty-eighth floor, the Human Resources Department, and gave the resignation letter to department head Luu. He picked it up and looked at it, then was stunned:

"Assistant Lam, this is..."

"Just follow the correct procedure."

"But your position... do you need to inform General Manager Co?"

"No need."

When I said those two words, my voice was unusually calm. Manager Luu stared at me for five seconds, perhaps reading the unshakable determination on my face so he didn't advise any further, just quietly opened the system and started processing the approval process.

"When will it be finished at the earliest?"

"If all departments approve immediately... before work tomorrow."

I went back to the forty-second floor to pack my things. The whole floor was strangely quiet, colleagues working overtime were all meeting online in the conference room. My desk is located right outside the General Director's office, a gray desk, two computer screens, a file shelf, and a pot of tiger tongues in the corner of the desk. That pot of snake tongue was something I bought at the flower shop downstairs on my first day of work, for fifteen yuan. Six years have passed, it has grown green and lush, looking even more alive than me. I put all my personal belongings in a paper bag: a ceramic cup, a desk calendar, two pens and a spare pair of glasses. Little to pitiful. For six years, I have lived more than two thousand days and nights in this office, I don't know how many times I have worked overtime until midnight, yet all the things that truly belong to me only need a paper bag to hold. I deleted all personal documents on my computer, logged out of all browser accounts, and returned my desktop to its neatest state. Finally, I took down my employee card. The photo on the card is still a photo taken six years ago. Lam Chieu was twenty-four years old, his hair tied neatly, his eyes bright and clear, the corners of his lips still carrying a carefree smile that he himself did not recognize at that time. I placed my employee card and access card on the table, picked up my paper bag and left. When the elevator reached the first floor, Tieu Chu at the front desk had finished his shift, replaced by a night worker. I gave him my employee card:

"Lin Chieu, employee code D00217. Tomorrow the Human Resources department will hand over to you."

He took it, wrote a line in the registration book, then raised his head and smiled:

"Miss Lam, I wish you smooth sailing."

"I wish you smooth sailing."

I nodded slightly, pushed the revolving door and walked out. The rain was still falling, smaller than when it came, drizzling across the sky, falling on my face so that I could no longer distinguish between rainwater and something else.