Divorce Him Before We Even Marry - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading Divorce Him Before We Even Marry, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of Divorce Him Before We Even Marry.
The morning after Ethan left, I pulled out my suitcase and started packing—I'd be heading back to the village in a few days.
Sure, we'd been promised to each other since childhood, with all the formal exchanges of tokens and birthdates. But to truly cut ties, I needed to officially call off the engagement in front of the village elders. No loose ends.
As I folded my clothes, I spotted the quilt covers and pillowcases I'd spent years secretly embroidering—tiny stitches, late nights, all for nothing. Without hesitation, I stuffed them into a bag, along with the new shoes I'd made, and marched down to the pawn shop at the end of the street.
Thirty bucks. That's what years of careful needlework got me. Not much, but enough to cover meals and coffee at college for a while. Every penny counted.
Back home, I grabbed a marker and slashed a thick X over today's date on the calendar.
Twenty more days.
Twenty days, and I'd be free.
Ethan returned well past midnight.
The dinner I'd made sat cold and untouched on the table.
"I already ate at school," he said offhandedly.
But the faint trace of white tea perfume clinging to him told me the truth—he'd been with Linda and her daughter. He must have gone out to avoid an awkward meal at home.
I didn't press him. Silently, I cleared the dishes and retreated to my room.
My high school textbooks and test papers were everywhere—piled on the desk, spilling onto the floor, even creeping into the living room. I started bundling up the ones in my bedroom, planning to tackle the rest tomorrow after Ethan left.
Since I was moving out, none of my things had any right to stay.
A soft knock interrupted me.
Ethan. He always respected my space, never barging in without permission.
"What is it?" I asked, blocking his view of the half-packed boxes.
A pause. Then, his voice, measured and calm: "I'm filling out the marriage report. Can we set the date for the ninth of next month?"
The ninth. The same day we'd married in my past life.
My gaze flicked to the bags by the door. "Marriage is a serious thing," I said evenly. "I'll need to ask my family first."
Silence stretched between us before his footsteps finally faded down the hall.
I exhaled, sinking back against the headboard.
The truth was, with his status, he didn't need my family's approval to file the paperwork. And it wasn't like I had much family left—my parents had died young, and his parents had taken me in because of the betrothal.
To everyone else, I was already one of them. The marriage report was just a formality.
And why wouldn't they assume I'd say yes? Ethan was handsome, accomplished, always kind to me.
My feelings had been obvious—my heart had been his, completely.
I did owe his family.
But I'd repaid that debt in my last life. Every last bit of it.
Now, I owed them nothing.
This time, I'd choose my own path.
One without Ethan.
Sure, we'd been promised to each other since childhood, with all the formal exchanges of tokens and birthdates. But to truly cut ties, I needed to officially call off the engagement in front of the village elders. No loose ends.
As I folded my clothes, I spotted the quilt covers and pillowcases I'd spent years secretly embroidering—tiny stitches, late nights, all for nothing. Without hesitation, I stuffed them into a bag, along with the new shoes I'd made, and marched down to the pawn shop at the end of the street.
Thirty bucks. That's what years of careful needlework got me. Not much, but enough to cover meals and coffee at college for a while. Every penny counted.
Back home, I grabbed a marker and slashed a thick X over today's date on the calendar.
Twenty more days.
Twenty days, and I'd be free.
Ethan returned well past midnight.
The dinner I'd made sat cold and untouched on the table.
"I already ate at school," he said offhandedly.
But the faint trace of white tea perfume clinging to him told me the truth—he'd been with Linda and her daughter. He must have gone out to avoid an awkward meal at home.
I didn't press him. Silently, I cleared the dishes and retreated to my room.
My high school textbooks and test papers were everywhere—piled on the desk, spilling onto the floor, even creeping into the living room. I started bundling up the ones in my bedroom, planning to tackle the rest tomorrow after Ethan left.
Since I was moving out, none of my things had any right to stay.
A soft knock interrupted me.
Ethan. He always respected my space, never barging in without permission.
"What is it?" I asked, blocking his view of the half-packed boxes.
A pause. Then, his voice, measured and calm: "I'm filling out the marriage report. Can we set the date for the ninth of next month?"
The ninth. The same day we'd married in my past life.
My gaze flicked to the bags by the door. "Marriage is a serious thing," I said evenly. "I'll need to ask my family first."
Silence stretched between us before his footsteps finally faded down the hall.
I exhaled, sinking back against the headboard.
The truth was, with his status, he didn't need my family's approval to file the paperwork. And it wasn't like I had much family left—my parents had died young, and his parents had taken me in because of the betrothal.
To everyone else, I was already one of them. The marriage report was just a formality.
And why wouldn't they assume I'd say yes? Ethan was handsome, accomplished, always kind to me.
My feelings had been obvious—my heart had been his, completely.
I did owe his family.
But I'd repaid that debt in my last life. Every last bit of it.
Now, I owed them nothing.
This time, I'd choose my own path.
One without Ethan.
End of Divorce Him Before We Even Marry Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to Divorce Him Before We Even Marry book page.