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I Found My Husband’s 38 Divorce Papers
Novelix
Completed
After nine years of believing she was happily married to Ethan Reed, Claire discovers thirty-eight divorce decrees hidden in his study—each naming Ethan and his young apprentice, Lily Carter. Worse, Claire’s own marriage certificate is a fake. When Ethan lets Lily mock her, confirms Claire as “single” for a classified program, and walks away while Claire bleeds after surgery, she vanishes behind a staged death and a new identity. Ethan returns too late, unraveling every lie he told himself. Years later, prison walls and regret are all he has left—until he sees Claire alive, and forever beyond reach.
Chapters (3)
第1章
Nine years. From high school sweethearts to what should have been our ninth wedding anniversary. That's how long I'd been with Ethan Reed when I found thirty-eight divorce decrees hidden in the secret compartment of his study.
The earliest was dated three years ago. The most recent, just last week. On every single document, the husband's name was Ethan Reed. The wife was not me.
I stared at those stamped papers for a long time. Then I laughed.
I thought it was some kind of joke.
After all, Ethan and I had registered our marriage years ago. He was already my husband. How could he possibly be marrying and divorcing another woman over and over again?
Then that evening, Ethan came home. He ruffled my hair the way he always did and asked, "Claire, did you pack my bag for the Maldives trip this weekend?"
At that exact moment, Ethan's favorite student, Lily Carter, posted an update on social media.
"Honeymoon number 39, countdown begins."
I stared at that post in disbelief. And in that moment, I finally understood why a university professor always needed to take business trips to the Maldives.
So this time, they were getting remarried again.
...
The next day, I went to the marriage records office at City Hall. The clerk took my documents, searched the system for a few minutes, and when she looked up, her expression had shifted into something careful.
"It's real, ma'am. Ethan Reed and Lily Carter completed their divorce registration last Tuesday." She paused, lowering her voice. "Thirty-eight divorces? That's... extreme."
Thirty-eight.
Starting three years ago, they'd been getting married and divorced roughly once a month.
I thanked her and turned to leave. The so-called marriage certificate in my bag stayed where it was.
There was no need for someone else to tell me it didn't exist in the system.
That piece of paper sat in my bag, stiff against my hand.
Nine years ago, we'd walked into City Hall together, taken a photo, and walked out shortly after. Ethan said he was busy with work, that he knew people, that they could expedite the process.
All these years, he'd been warm and attentive, the picture of a flawless husband. I never once doubted him.
Turns out from the very beginning, this marriage was a lie.
I'd barely stepped out of City Hall when Ethan sent me a voice message.
"Claire, Lily's coming over for dinner tonight. Pick up extra groceries—she says she's craving your smoked ribs."
I gripped my phone and smiled.
She's craving them.
She'd been craving them for three years, eating them for three years.
I never imagined she'd also been taking my husband for three years.
Besides his university position, Ethan was also an art restorer specializing in lacquerwork conservation.
Lily had come to study under him three years ago. She was from the same small town as Ethan. The first time she came to our home, she wore overalls and a messy bun, and the moment she walked through the door, she beamed at me.
"Mrs. Reed, you're so pretty. Ethan always used to say back home that he'd married an angel. I thought he was exaggerating."
She made me laugh. I pulled her down to sit and chat. Ethan stood nearby watching the two of us, the smile on his face deeper than usual.
Later, I started visiting the studio often. Lily was lively—she never stopped talking while she worked. She was nothing like the reserved students from Ethan's department, who respectfully called him Professor Reed. Lily just called him Ethan, sometimes teasing him right to his face.
Every time I watched them joke around, I tried to join in. I even went out of my way to research restoration techniques and materials. But every time the subject came up at dinner, Lily would cut me off with a laugh.
"Mrs. Reed, you're probably reading beginner-level stuff, right? What we're talking about is pretty technical. You don't have to force yourself."
And every time, Ethan would nod. "Claire, just do what you enjoy. The studio stuff is tedious. Don't make yourself suffer through it."
After a while, I stopped asking about their work altogether.
Lily came over for dinner every few days. She and Ethan would talk about exhibitions, materials—conversations I couldn't contribute a single word to. Sometimes they'd crack jokes in their hometown slang, and I understood even less.
That feeling of being shut out. It never sat right with me.
Before, I didn't understand where the unease came from.
Now I knew.
I moved my fingers across the screen and typed back a reply.
"No. If she wants to eat, she can cook it herself."
Ethan, this ends here.
We end here.
第2章
A few seconds of silence on the other end, then another voice message came through. Ethan's tone was light, amused. "Tired? What do you want to eat then? I'll bring something home."
Before, I would have replied instantly. This time, I didn't respond at all.
At six in the evening, the door lock clicked. Ethan walked in carrying a bag of groceries. Lily trailed behind him.
She was wearing a yellow sundress today. The moment she stepped inside, she called out with a grin, "Mrs. Reed, look how much Ethan spoils you. He heard you didn't even want to go shopping, so he dragged me around the supermarket for ages picking out ribs."
Ethan changed his shoes, set the bag in the kitchen, and then came out.
"Claire, we have a guest. We can't just let her sit here hungry. How about you make a few dishes?"
He smiled and held out an apron to me. I didn't take it.
In my mind, I suddenly flashed back to the year he'd made associate professor. For the sake of his career, I'd given up my own field and stepped behind him, becoming the quiet, presentable wife.
I thought that was love.
But all I'd earned was his sense of entitlement.
These past few years, whenever he mentioned Lily, his eyes lit up. He'd secretly bought her work at inflated prices just to boost her confidence. He always had fairness on his lips, yet he'd put her name on his papers.
But in nine years, did he even remember what his wife liked—beyond the kitchen, the bills, and the dinner table?
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I looked down and swiped the screen open. It was the final review notification for the classified program.
"Please confirm that you are currently single. Click 'Confirm' to complete the signature."
My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second.
Then Lily snatched the phone right out of my hand.
"Oh, what's this? Some kind of game? It's asking Mrs. Reed to confirm whether she's single?"
She held up my phone, tilting her head as she read the line aloud. Her voice was innocent, but her eyes were fixed directly on Ethan.
"Ethan, what do you think?"
Ethan blinked, then laughed, casually draping an arm around my shoulder.
"We've been married for years. How could she possibly be single?"
Lily didn't give the phone back. Instead, she held the screen closer to Ethan's face, her voice dropping low.
"Really?"
Just two words. But all three people in the room understood perfectly.
She wasn't asking me.
She was asking Ethan.
You just said "married for years." Who exactly were you talking about?
I didn't speak. I just watched them quietly.
The smile on Ethan's face froze for half a second. His gaze settled on Lily. She didn't look away, her chin slightly raised, a faint smile still resting on her lips—like she was waiting for an answer she'd already heard thirty-eight times before.
"Stop messing around." Ethan treated it like a harmless joke, reached over, and casually tapped the confirm button. "It's just a game."
A notification popped up on the screen.
"Confirmation successful."
This seemingly offhand choice made Lily smile with satisfaction. She pushed the phone back into my hand, then leaned sideways into Ethan's arm.
"Ethan, honestly—confirming it for her like that. What if it's something important?"
Ethan chuckled and pulled on the apron, heading toward the kitchen.
"My wife's business is my business."
Lily pouted, then pressed further on purpose. "Your wife? Which wife?"
Ethan glanced back at her, his tone indulgent.
"Who else could it be?"
Their laughter echoed through the living room.
I looked down at the fine print that had just appeared on my screen.
"Your original identity will be deactivated within 72 hours. This process is irreversible."
第3章
I lowered my head and gently placed my hand over my belly.
All these years, the doctors kept saying the same thing—just wait, it'll happen. And Ethan always reassured me: "There's no rush for a baby. I'd rather spoil you a few more years."
So every month, I counted the days full of hope, bought ovulation test strips, charted my temperature, and waited carefully for a miracle.
But while I was hoping for us to have a child, he'd been marrying and divorcing another woman. Thirty-eight times.
Each remarriage came with a honeymoon trip.
And just when I'd finally learned the baby had arrived—when I was preparing to surprise him—he'd pressed the confirm button for me with his own hand.
I let out a small laugh.
Since this was the choice you made yourself, then so be it.
...
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, then stood up and walked over to Lily, cutting into their playful banter.
"You like coming to my house for dinner so much—tonight you can cook it yourself."
Lily froze, pointing at herself.
"Me?"
Her tone carried that deliberate, coy kind of hurt.
"Mrs. Reed, are you sure? I've never cooked a day in my life. My man won't even let me near a stove."
When she said "my man," her eyes drifted toward Ethan.
Ethan didn't correct her. He just cleared his throat and picked up where she left off.
"Come on—Lily doesn't know how to cook. You've been doing it all these years, haven't you? Don't put her in a difficult spot."
"Oh, so you're aware it's been years?"
I looked at Ethan.
"What kind of person freeloads off someone else's table for three years?"
I didn't give him time to react. I turned to Lily.
"Perfect timing—every time you finish eating, you always say, 'Mrs. Reed, I feel so bad, I didn't help at all.' Now's your chance. Stop just saying you feel bad."
The smile on Lily's face stiffened for an instant. A second later, her eyes went red, and she leaned toward Ethan.
"Ethan, is Mrs. Reed in a bad mood today? She's being so harsh."
Ethan's expression darkened.
"Lily is an artist, not a maid. You think it's appropriate to make her cook?"
He looked at me, his tone matter-of-fact.
"You've been taking care of me at home for nine years. Cooking has always been your job, not a guest's."
For marriage. For a child. For his career. I'd had to give up my own field. And in the end, in his mouth, it all amounted to one line—cooking is your job.
"Fine." I tugged at the corner of my mouth. "It's my job."
I lifted my eyes and looked at both of them.
"And since it's my job, I get to decide how it's done."
"Both of you, get out. I'm not hosting anyone tonight."
Ethan frowned, about to say something. But I'd already turned and gone into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
Behind me, Ethan murmured something to comfort Lily. Before long, he took her and left.
The house went quiet.
I looked around this home I'd decorated with my own hands, and it suddenly felt foreign.
I used to think Ethan was a genuinely good husband. His paycheck came to me on time. He reported in when he worked late. When he traveled, he'd give me his flight number and hotel name.
Looking back through our messages over the past three years, he'd indeed reported thirty-eight "business trips."
New York, Boston, Chicago, San Francisco, Miami, New Orleans, Seattle, San Diego...
He'd said they were academic exchanges, cultural heritage evaluations, art restoration conferences. I never questioned them.
Thirty-eight times.
But our own honeymoon kept getting postponed. Right after we married, he said it was a critical phase for his career—he couldn't get away. The second year, I suggested we at least use vacation time; he said he had to chaperone students. The third year, he said a project deadline was too pressing. The fourth year, I booked the tickets myself, and he said a conference notice came in last minute. The fifth year. The sixth. The seventh. Every time there was a new reason.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
Turns out time can always be found.
It just depends on who it's for.
