Divorced for the 9th Time

Even though we had married and divorced nine times like a game, I was still the ex-wife.

The night grew quiet. The wind outside howled, as if carrying my words far away.

After a long silence, Jake lifted his head, attempting an explanation.

"Divorcing you… It was my fault. But I couldn't let Carla bear the shame of being involved with a married man."

I took a few irritated steps back, unable—and unwilling—to understand.

Carla couldn't bear the blame, so that meant I deserved to be divorced nine times?

"You've considered everything thoroughly, Jake. I have nothing to say."

I lowered my eyes, refusing to meet his gaze.

Jake opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say more, but the ringtone of his phone interrupted him. It was Carla calling.

I looked at the name on his screen and said firmly, "Go. Be with her. We'll talk about us later."

Jake stared at me a few times, then slowly walked away to answer.

I returned to my apartment and slammed the door shut, as if sealing not only what had just happened but everything from the past.

…

Time flew. The work handover finished, and my departure abroad drew closer.

Without the job—and without Jake—I blocked my social circles in Vera City, and life felt unexpectedly light.

Only Hannah, knowing I was leaving the country, occasionally shared gossip from our circle.

After that encounter, she told me, Jake seemed to have a huge fight with Carla, prompting friends to intervene.

Another time, Carla publicly scolded him at a party, leaving him frozen in the corner for a long moment.

I listened quietly to all the news, feeling neither joy nor sorrow.

In the past, updates of Jake and Carla fighting had been the signal for me to beg him to remarry me sooner. This time, I didn't even think of checking in with him.

Even when Hannah casually mentioned that Jake had asked about me, I was surprised—but not enough to act.

What shocked me even more was that Jake started calling me himself.

And I repeatedly hung up—so much so that even Hannah, who was pampering me at a spa, thought it cruel.

"Is it true," she teased, "that the more you distance yourself, the more a man can't let go?"

I kicked her playfully with my leg.

After the spa, we sat in the tea room, sipping quietly.

Hannah couldn't help but sigh. "You know… Jake treated you really well back then."

My gaze went distant, lost in memories.

When I first met Jake, I was still in college. He was only six years older, a friend of my father's. My parents had gone abroad on business and entrusted him with my care.

This man, who could command Vera City with a single word, indulged me endlessly back then.

He had rushed onto the track when I twisted my ankle at a sports meet, carrying me away in front of everyone.

He had scolded me for failing an exam, then picked up my textbooks and tutored me himself.

When I was cheated out of 160 dollars during an internship, he used all his connections to bring that company down.

At some point, I fell in love with this man who treated me like a niece. I leaned on him without restraint.

Jake grew used to spoiling me, never noticing anything unusual—until I confessed.

His expression darkened, ending with a sigh. "I have someone I like."

It was then that I learned of Carla, a woman whose features resembled mine in a few ways.

That failed confession became the start of nine years of entanglement between us. In the middle of it all, Carla returned to the country—they dated, fought, tore each other apart, and broke up.

One drunken night, while consoling a heartbroken Jake, I foolishly confessed again. He kissed me in response, binding himself to me through marriage.

Later, when Carla returned to Vera City, Jake first proposed divorce.

The endless cycle of divorces and remarriages continued and gradually wore me numb.