The 99th Forgiveness

Emma grabbed his hand, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I know, Mr. Morrison. You're so good to me."

She was right. Frederick was truly good to her.

The wine I'd swallowed finally hit my throat, the burn making my eyes water. It didn't matter, I told myself. There were only two vouchers left anyway.

…

After the reception ended, I naturally walked toward the passenger side of the car. The moment I touched the door handle, I heard the sharp click of the locks engaging.

Frederick rolled down his window and looked at me coldly. "Take a cab. I just had the car washed, and you reek of alcohol."

He seemed to have forgotten why I reeked of alcohol in the first place, the disgust in his eyes unmistakable under the streetlights.

Normally, I would have frantically tried drinking water, tearfully explaining that it was just a little wine and that the smell wasn't that bad. Perhaps I might have even broken down right there on the street, demanding through my tears why he'd made me apologize for Emma.

However, this time, I simply smiled and nodded. "Alright. Drive safely."

Frederick's grip on the steering wheel loosened, and he looked at me instinctively. "Cecilia..."

Before he could finish, Emma pushed past me with a laugh. "Mr. Morrison, I'm all ready. Let's go."

She wore Frederick's suit jacket over her dress, which still carried the sharp scent of alcohol from when she'd knocked over the champagne tower. However, Frederick didn't mind at all. He not only opened the car door for her personally but also carefully adjusted his jacket around her shoulders.

"It's cold out there. Don't catch a cold."

Only after all this did he remember to look at me, guilt flickering in his eyes. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just looking out for Emma because she's young and alone."

I nodded. "I understand."

Afraid he wouldn't believe me, I added, "Besides, you used a reconciliation voucher, didn't you? I won't be angry."

Frederick froze, about to say something more, but Emma sneezed and immediately recaptured his attention.

"Get home early," he said, and then they drove off.

I watched their car disappear into the distance, unable to stop myself from shivering.

Back home, I pulled out the piggy bank where I kept our reconciliation vouchers from the closet. The slips of paper that used to be easy to reach now required me to dig around for a long time before I could pull one out.

After tearing up the 97th voucher, I opened my laptop and began drafting divorce papers. To ensure a fair divorce, I even consulted my law professor, Samuel Powell. "Mr. Powell, if I divorce Frederick, how should we divide the assets?"

Mr. Powell was surprised by my question. "Divorce? Why?

"Everyone at the university knows that Frederick proposed to you 100 times. It's still talked about as one of the great campus love stories. Why would you want a divorce now?"

It was something I wondered too. How had we gotten to this point?

It probably started with the increasingly strong perfume scent on his clothes and his increasingly frequent nights away from home, with the vouchers in the piggy bank disappearing one by one because of Emma.

I knew then that we could never go back.

Sensing my silence, Mr. Powell stopped trying to persuade me and simply asked, "I'll help you write the divorce agreement. When do you need it?"

I turned to look at the piggy bank, my voice flat. "When Frederick uses up his last two chances."

As I finished speaking, the bedroom door was pushed open.

"What chances?" Frederick walked in carrying a paper bag, his tone puzzled.