I stared at Jiang Wei’s message.

“Set a price, divorce.”

I laughed.

Two million yuan?

Of course it wasn’t enough.

Not because I wanted his insurance money.

Not because I wanted revenge.

Because five years earlier, when Jiang Wei had nothing, the person who paid the rent was me.

The person who borrowed money from relatives was me.

The person who used her savings to buy his first laptop was me.

The person who worked two jobs while he prepared for his professional exams—

was also me.

I opened our old cloud storage.

Jiang Wei had forgotten something important.

I kept records.

Transfers.

Receipts.

Loan agreements.

Messages.

Everything.

At two thirty in the morning, I replied:

“Tomorrow. Nine o’clock. My lawyer’s office.”

He answered instantly:

“Don’t make this difficult.”

I smiled.

“You asked me to set a price.”

“I’m calculating.”

The next morning, Jiang Wei arrived wearing sunglasses.

Ton Giai wasn’t with him.

My lawyer placed three folders on the table.

Jiang Wei frowned.

—What’s all this?

I opened the first one.

—Evidence of your affair.

His face tightened.

Hotel booking.

Messages.

The WeChat conversation he had forgotten to log out of.

The recorded admission at the hotel.

I had no intention of sending any more humiliating material around.

The office had already seen enough.

From that moment onward, everything would be handled legally.

Then I opened the second folder.

—These are our marital assets.

Jiang Wei glanced over them.

—We don’t have much.

I looked at him.

—Are you sure?

His expression changed.

The apartment he called “our home” had been purchased after our marriage.

The down payment had come partly from my premarital savings and partly from money my parents had given me.

His investment account had grown during the marriage.

His bonuses.

Our savings.

The car.

The company shares he had purchased after promotion.

All had to be properly reviewed.

Jiang Wei’s jaw tightened.

—Truong Man, I already said I’ll compensate you.

—This isn’t compensation.

I pushed the papers toward him.

—This is accounting.

Then came the third folder.

He looked at it and frowned.

—What’s that?

—Five years.

I had reconstructed everything.

During the year when Jiang Wei changed careers, I covered nearly seventy percent of household expenses.

When he prepared for certification, I paid his course fees.

When his mother needed money, transfers came from our joint funds.

When he wanted to buy his first investment property but lacked the deposit, I transferred him the difference.

His expression slowly changed.

—Why are you bringing up old things?

I leaned back.

—Because last night you asked me to set a price.

He said nothing.

I continued:

—I don’t want you to pay me for loving you.

—But I also won’t let you rewrite history as if you built everything alone and I’m some unwanted wife asking for charity.

Jiang Wei lowered his voice.

—Ton Giai means nothing.

I almost laughed.

—That’s worse.

He looked up.

—What?

—If she were the love of your life, at least you’d have destroyed our marriage for something you believed mattered.

I paused.

—Instead, you destroyed five years for someone you now say means nothing.

He went silent.

Then he tried another approach.

—We can still fix this.

I looked at him.

—Last night you told me to set a price for divorce.

—That was because I was angry.

—No.

I shook my head.

—You were caught.

There’s a difference.

The divorce negotiations lasted three weeks.

Jiang Wei’s mother called repeatedly.

At first, she scolded me.

—Men make mistakes!

—A wife should know when to close one eye!

Then my lawyer sent Jiang Wei the preliminary asset schedule.

Her tone changed.

—Man Man, we’re family.

I answered calmly:

—Not for much longer.

She started crying.

I hung up.

Ton Giai resigned from my department before Human Resources completed its internal review.

She sent me one message:

“Are you satisfied now?”

I replied:

“No.”

Then blocked her.

Because my satisfaction no longer depended on whether she suffered.

I wanted my own life back.

Jiang Wei eventually agreed to a fair division of property.

No dramatic payout.

No mysterious accident.

No revenge.

Just numbers he could no longer pretend not to understand.

On the day we signed, he sat opposite me staring at the papers.

—You’re really leaving?

I looked at him.

—You already left.

—When?

I smiled faintly.

—Long before the hotel.

He frowned.

I continued:

—When my work became less important than yours.

—When your mother could order me around and you told me to tolerate it.

—When you stopped bringing me flowers because they were “a waste of money,” then bought roses for another woman.

His eyes dropped.

That detail hurt him.

Good.

Not because I wanted pain.

Because I wanted him to finally understand.

After the divorce, I moved into a smaller apartment close to work.

I changed departments.

Not because I was ashamed.

Because I wanted a clean beginning.

Six months later, I was promoted.

The same manager who had watched that ridiculous WeChat conversation called me into his office.

—Truong Man, you’ve been carrying half this team for years.

I smiled.

Funny.

Once I stopped carrying Jiang Wei too, apparently everyone could finally see it.

A year later, I met him again.

At a project conference.

He looked thinner.

Older.

Alone.

He approached during the break.

—Man Man.

—Hello.

He hesitated.

—Ton Giai and I ended things.

—I didn’t ask.

His expression tightened.

Then he said:

—I finally understand why you were so calm that night.

I looked at him.

—Why?

—Because when you saw us, you weren’t deciding whether to leave.

He smiled bitterly.

—You were just confirming that you should.

For once, Jiang Wei was right.

He had believed the worst consequence of cheating would be paying money in a divorce.

He was wrong.

Money could be divided.

Property could be calculated.

Even humiliation eventually faded.

What he couldn’t buy back was the woman who had once stood beside him when he had nothing.

That night, when Jiang Wei asked me to “set a price,” I thought about the insurance policy for exactly one second.

Then I understood something better.

My future wasn’t worth more because something happened to him.

It was worth more because I was finally going to live it without him.

So I didn’t wait for revenge.

I didn’t wait for regret.

I simply took back what was legally mine—

and walked away with the one thing Jiang Wei could never negotiate for again:

me.