The Seven-Day Agreement
On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days.
She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days.
On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats.
On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron.
On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them.
That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in.
On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping.
On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day.
I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out.
What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies.
This time, I was done playing her game.