Chapter 9 — The Divorce ATM

You once loved me. Then you used my money to buy a house for her.

You once loved me. Then, while I was undergoing surgery, you were upstairs with her.

You once loved me. Then you started calling me your walking ATM.

Your love was never worth the price.

There was only the sound of heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

Do not call me again.

I hung up the phone. I moved his number to the blocked list. I set the device down and stepped out onto the balcony. The sunlight was beautiful. Behind me, the moving crew was carrying out the last two boxes. The walls of my new home were pristine white. There were no wedding photos on the shelves. There were no two sets of toothbrushes by the sink. There were no pink sticky notes left on the refrigerator. There were no heavy suitcases belonging to someone else cluttering the hallway. It was clean. It was quiet. But it was not the hollow, lonely kind of quiet. It was a serenity I had chosen for myself.

Twelve. Three months later. The new house had finally settled into a rhythm. On the balcony, I had planted a pot of fresh mint. The leaves were a vibrant, deep green. I plucked one to steep in water; the taste was cool and refreshing. My friend, Phuong Vien, came to visit once, carrying a bottle of red wine.

How are things?

They are wonderful.

Are you used to living alone yet?

I have been used to it for a long time.

I poured two glasses of wine.

Those three years, he was always away on business or working overtime. Most of the time, I was living alone anyway. The only difference back then was that I still harbored the delusion that someone would eventually come home. Now, I know there is no one left worth waiting for.

Phuong Vien held up her glass. The final transfer from him has arrived.

Two hundred and eighty thousand?

It has arrived, interest and all.

And what about the six hundred thousand from the Thuy Dinh Garden property?

Two installments have been paid. He has not been late.

I nodded slowly.

How is he doing now?

I do not know.

Do you really have no desire to find out?

I thought for a second.

None at all.

Phuong Vien smiled. That is exactly how it should be.

We clinked our glasses together. The wine was exquisite—far better than the instant noodles from last Valentine’s Day. On that night, while he was at an upscale restaurant eating steak with Tham Dao, I was home alone with a bowl of soggy noodles. Now, I can afford to book a table at a fine restaurant on my own. I can order the best cut of steak. I can fly first class without having to scrimp and save for three months. My money is now spent entirely on myself.

After Phuong Vien left, I stood out on the balcony. The evening breeze was gentle. Below, people were taking their nightly strolls. The lights in the building across the way flickered on, one by one. My phone chimed. A notification. A package delivery. There was no name listed for the sender. I went downstairs to collect it. When I opened it, I found a small box. Inside lay a ring—our wedding band. He had returned it.

I looked at the ring, letting it rest in the palm of my hand for a single heartbeat. Then, I walked into the kitchen and opened the lid of the trash bin. I tossed it inside. The lid clicked shut with a soft, final sound. I washed my hands, returned to the balcony, and picked up my tea. It was flavored with mint. Alone. It is truly wonderful.