Of Fractured Vows and Broken Hearts

Shane Galingston froze, the tissue in his hand still suspended in midair.

The next second, Fleur Renault burst out from behind the counter and pointed at me, shouting, "You and your brother wouldn't even dare take a paternity test. You got yourself pregnant messing around and then found an honest man to take responsibility. Now, you're married and still sleeping around, hooking up everywhere—and now that you've found your next target, you want a divorce!"

As soon as she finished, a large bottle of water came out of nowhere and was dumped over my head and face.

A draft swept through the hall. I shivered from the cold.

I looked at Shane again. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end, he said nothing.

Disgust spread across the faces of the onlookers.

"Even her own husband won't defend her. Looks like what that clerk said is true! No wonder she has AIDS!"

"Look at her makeup and the way she sways when she walks—obviously someone from that kind of dirty business!"

This wasn't the first time Fleur had spread filthy rumors about me.

She stole my marriage certificate and ran to my workplace to accuse me of being a shameless slut anyone could sleep with.

She even posted my personal information on shady websites. Under endless harassment and abuse, I lost my job.

I couldn't sleep at night. I lost twenty pounds and swallowed antidepressants by the handful.

Shane used his connections to get me doctors and treatment, yet he was helpless whenever Fleur cried.

Once, standing by my hospital bed, he had said helplessly, "She's the fiancée my mom arranged for me when we were kids. Since she couldn't marry me, it's only natural she throws tantrums.

"She doesn't mean you any harm. She's just sharp-tongued—she wouldn't really do anything to you. You're kind, so be more forgiving.

"If you ignore her, she'll come around sooner or later and apologize to you with her head down."

But my repeated patience only made Fleur worse.

Now I had had enough. I didn't want to endure it anymore.

So I wiped the water from my face and calmly walked toward the ticket machine.

Fleur had been enjoying the sight of my humiliation. She immediately rolled her eyes, looking as if she had seen through me.

"Playing hard to get! Making a fuss about divorce—aren't you just desperate to get your marriage certificate reissued?"

Shane smiled faintly and tapped Fleur on the nose.

"Enough. It's the first day of your period. Don't get so worked up."

Then, ignoring my cry of pain, he dragged me outside with force.

"Stop making trouble. This is a job Fleur worked hard to get. She's immature—are you immature too?

"Can't we replace the certificate some other day? She's in a bad mood today. Another day. I'll come with you another day."

Suddenly, I laughed.

"Shane, when's my birthday?"

After a moment of silence, he turned around.

Confusion flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger, as if I were deliberately causing trouble.

"Lily, are you serious? You've only been married to me for a few years! Fleur and I grew up together—how many years has that been?

"It's just a stupid piece of paper! Why rush? Do you have to make everyone miserable?"

My head buzzed. All the blood in my body seemed to turn cold.

How could he say something like that?

When Fleur ruined my third job, I was already pushed to the breaking point. That was when I lost my first child.

I didn't dare close my eyes at night. The moment I did, all I saw was blood soaking my skirt, and the child I had longed for—burning in my mind until I spoke nonsense.

Shane was furious and blocked Fleur. But less than a week later, while I was still bleeding, he softened again because Fleur went on a hunger strike.

"Lily, I asked her. She had her reasons. You're too outstanding at work—she feels inferior. Isn't your mom a civil service exam instructor? Why not have her help Fleur? Once she passes, she'll be grateful to you."

I never wanted her gratitude.

But for my sake, my mother still tutored Fleur diligently for two years.

She didn't get a permanent position, but she did land a contract job.

And how did she repay my mother?

On New Year's Eve, Fleur told all the relatives who had come from my hometown that I had shamelessly clung to the Galingston family by getting pregnant, that I didn't even have a marriage certificate.

In my panicked gaze, my mother's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the floor.

My father, a six-foot-tall man, bowed his shoulders under the curses of the entire village and begged me, "Lily, it doesn't matter if the certificate is lost. Just hurry and get another one."

But every time we went to city hall, either the printer was out of ink or the camera was broken.

Until last night, when my mother was issued a critical condition notice, her withered hand suspended in the air, unable to fall.

Through tears, I begged Shane. Only then did he promise that today, it would be done for sure.

Clearly, his memory of me was fragile at best.

But suddenly, I understood that if I couldn't get a marriage certificate reissued, a divorce certificate could clear my name just as well.

As Shane and I stood locked in silent confrontation, a staff member leaned out and called the next number.

Shane waved his hand impatiently.

"We're not doing it today—"

"Number 103, Shane Galingston and Lily Marshall, your divorce application. Please come to the counter."