Divorce in the Eighth Year
Language: en
In the eighth year of our marriage, my husband sent me nine hundred ninety-nine roses. Fresh off the operating table, I calmly dialed his number and asked for a divorce. From the other end of the line, I heard his young girlfriend’s tearful apology: “Mrs. Steele, it’s all my fault for acting on my own. Please don’t be angry with Mr. Steele.” Julian softly comforted her for a long time, only turning to me to say: “As you wish.” It was half a month later before I saw him again.