Seven Days to Lose Your Husband

Camille did not follow me when I left our townhouse.

Her friends were still laughing behind me.

“Rowan changed his strategy this year.”

“Don’t give in too quickly, Camille.”

She answered with a quiet laugh.

“He can never stay away from me for long. Give him three days, and he’ll come home on his own.”

That evening, she opened another betting pool in their private group chat.

Camille wagered five thousand dollars that I would not last seventy-two hours.

To make sure I surrendered first, she officially added Julian’s fingerprint to the front door and handed him the spare key that had always belonged to me.

The next morning, Julian posted a photograph of himself wearing my slippers. The house key rested on the table beside his breakfast.

His caption read:

Day One of the Seven-Day Husband Challenge.

Their friends quickly joined in.

Someone suggested that Julian should try sleeping in the main bedroom that night. Another person asked whether the temporary husband should be allowed to drive my car.

Camille replied before Julian could.

The keys are in the second drawer by the front door.

I saw the message while sorting through my belongings in the small apartment my parents had left me.

No one had lived there for years. Dust covered the windowsills, and the kitchen faucet had begun to rust. The air carried the stale scent of rooms that had remained closed for too long.

Still, no one here treated my place in the family like a prize in a party game.

During our first anniversary challenge, Julian had taken one of my tailored suits without permission. He wore it to dinner with Camille and stood beside her while their friends took photographs.

I lost my temper in front of everyone and ordered him to remove it.

Camille followed me into the hall and wrapped her arms around my waist. She spent several minutes explaining that she had only wanted to see whether I would get jealous.

Before we returned to the party, she kissed my cheek and made me a promise.

“This was the first time, and it will be the last.”

Now Julian was standing inside my dressing room, trying on my suits one after another.

He had started a livestream so their friends could choose which outfit made him look most convincing as Camille’s husband. My watches and cuff links were arranged across the table in front of him, waiting for him to choose whatever he wanted.

Julian fastened a pair of silver cuff links and adjusted his collar.

“What do you think of this one?”

Camille sat nearby with a glass of wine. She looked up at him and smiled.

“It suits you better than I expected.”

The livestream filled with laughing emojis.

Someone asked why I had not appeared.

Julian leaned against the sofa and gave the camera an apologetic smile.

“Rowan always takes these games too seriously. I only agreed because Camille asked me to help, but he actually packed a bag and left.”

He glanced toward her.

“We all know he’ll come back.”

Camille answered without hesitation.

“He only wants me to surrender first. Once he thinks he has made his point, he’ll come home.”

A message from her appeared on my phone a few minutes later.

Marriage needs a little excitement sometimes, Rowan. This is only a game.

If you plan to stay away until the challenge ends, you should come back and take whatever you need for the next few days.

I returned to the townhouse that afternoon.

The lock no longer recognized my fingerprint.

I tried again, but the indicator flashed red. Before I could knock, the door opened from the inside.

Julian stood in the entrance wearing my watch and slippers.

“Camille said you might come back.”

I walked past him without answering.

The main bedroom had already changed. The white bedding Camille and I had chosen together was gone, replaced by pale blue sheets Julian liked. My toiletries, several books, and the charger from my nightstand had been swept into a cardboard box.

Our wedding portrait had also been removed from the wall.

The frame now rested in the corner beside the box. Another carton covered half the photograph, hiding most of Camille’s dress and part of my face.

Camille pushed the box toward me.

“You’ve made your point. If you need a few days alone, take whatever you need. We can talk properly when the challenge is over.”

Julian stopped beside the bedroom door.

“Would it make things easier if I moved into the guest room?”

His tone sounded considerate, but he made no attempt to collect his suitcase.

Camille shook her head.

“No. Changing the rules now would make the entire challenge pointless. The temporary husband is supposed to use the main bedroom.”

Then she turned toward me.

There was no cruelty in her expression. I saw only the familiar anticipation she had shown during every previous anniversary game.

She expected me to get angry, force Julian out of the room, and demand that she choose between us in front of everyone.

Afterward, she would announce that the game was over. She would laugh, kiss me, and tell me that I had once again proved how deeply I loved her.

I lifted the cardboard box into my arms.

“Did you miss anything?”

The excitement in Camille’s eyes faded for the first time.

She studied me for several seconds before speaking.

“You don’t have to make this so serious. We were only trying to have some fun.”

I carried the box out of the bedroom.

Neither of them followed me to the front door.

Camille still believed I was waiting for her to end the game.

I closed the door behind me and did not look back.