I held the phone against my ear.

Chu Dien’s voice came through the noise.

“Don’t you feel like our marriage is having problems?”

I looked at the empty side of the bed.

“What problems?”

He was silent for several seconds.

Then he said:

“You’re too independent.”

I almost thought I had misheard.

“What?”

“You never need anyone.”

“You go on business trips.”

“You make decisions on your own.”

“You earn your own money.”

“When something happens, you solve it yourself.”

His voice became colder.

“Sometimes I don’t even know why you need a husband.”

I stared at the wall.

Just three nights earlier, I had landed exhausted after three days of work and expected my husband to take me home.

Instead, he had abandoned me at the airport.

And somehow my independence was now the crime.

I asked:

“So leaving me there was supposed to fix that?”

He exhaled.

“I was angry.”

“About what?”

“Your attitude.”

I laughed softly.

“What attitude?”

“You got into the car and immediately asked why I was late.”

“You didn’t even ask whether I had eaten.”

I closed my eyes.

There it was.

The argument had started before he left me.

His mother had called him while he was driving to the airport.

She wanted him to take her to a relative’s house the next morning.

I reminded him that we had plans.

Chu Dien became irritated.

I said:

“You always change our plans whenever your family asks.”

He accused me of making everything difficult.

By the time he reached the airport, he was already angry.

Then, while I was loading my suitcase, he said:

“If being with me is so exhausting, take yourself home.”

And drove away.

Now he said:

“I think we should stay apart for a few days.”

“For what?”

“To calm down.”

“And then?”

“You’ll understand some things.”

That sentence made me pause.

“What things?”

“That marriage isn’t only about being right.”

I looked at my reflection in the dark window.

“Okay.”

He went silent.

“What?”

“I said okay.”

“You agree?”

“Yes.”

That was clearly not the answer he expected.

His voice became strange.

“Fine.”

Then he hung up.

That night, I learned what he had really expected.

His university friend, Song Kai, messaged me.

He and I were not close.

His first message simply said:

Sister-in-law, don’t take Chu Dien too seriously. He’s just stubborn.

I did not respond.

Then another message arrived.

A screenshot.

It was from their private group.

Chu Dien had written:

I’m staying out for a week. Don’t tell Tri Y where I am.

Someone replied:

What if she gets angry?

Chu Dien:

Let her.

Another friend:

You really left her at the airport?

Chu Dien:

She thinks she can handle everything herself. Let’s see how many days she lasts before she calls me.

Someone sent a laughing emoji.

Then:

What if she doesn’t call?

Chu Dien replied:

She will. She just needs to learn that marriage isn’t a place where she can always be the strong one.

I read the screenshot twice.

Then I deleted the conversation from my screen.

Not the screenshot.

That I saved.

Suddenly everything became simple.

This was not cooling off.

It was punishment.

Chu Dien had left me at the airport because he wanted me frightened.

Then he disappeared because he wanted me anxious.

He wanted me to call.

To apologize.

To prove that no matter what he did, losing him still scared me more than losing myself.

The next morning, I went to work.

At noon, my director called me into his office.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you again.”

He placed a folder in front of me.

Beijing.

Regional operations director.

The position I had refused two months earlier.

At the time, my director had been shocked.

“Why?”

I had smiled.

“My husband’s career is here.”

The promotion would have increased my salary by almost forty percent.

But it also required moving.

Chu Dien had said:

“If you go to Beijing, what happens to our home?”

So I stayed.

Now my director asked:

“Still no?”

I opened the folder.

For several seconds, I thought about the airport.

The dark apartment.

The message:

I won’t be home for the next two days. Take care of your own food and drink.

Then I said:

“When do you need an answer?”

“Friday.”

“You have it now.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

He stared at me.

“You’re going?”

“I’m going.”

That was day four.

Day five, I met a lawyer.

Not because I wanted to punish Chu Dien.

Because I finally admitted that I did not want my marriage to continue like this.

Our finances were uncomplicated.

We had joint savings.

A rented apartment.

Two cars bought separately.

No children.

No hidden companies.

No inheritance battle.

Nothing dramatic enough to distract from the only question that mattered:

Did I want to remain married to someone who deliberately made me feel abandoned to test whether I loved him?

No.

My lawyer prepared the documents.

I transferred only my own salary from the account where it was deposited.

The joint funds remained untouched until we could divide them properly.

I canceled the services that were solely in my name.

I packed my clothes.

My books.

My work files.

The ceramic mug my mother gave me.

And the small cactus Chu Dien always complained was ugly.

On the sixth day, I left the apartment.

I gave the landlord written notice that I would no longer occupy it after the required period and sent Chu Dien the information through proper channels.

He did not see it.

Because apparently he was still too busy teaching me a lesson.

On day seven, my mother called.

“Did you and Chu Dien argue?”

I was folding clothes into boxes.

“No.”

She sounded relieved.

“Good.”

Then she repeated what she had told me three days earlier:

“Husband and wife can live a long life if they don’t argue.”

This time, I said:

“Mom.”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes people don’t argue because one person has stopped being heard.”

She became quiet.

Then I told her everything.

The airport.

His disappearance.

The group screenshot.

Beijing.

The divorce.

My mother cried.

Not because she wanted me to stay.

Because she finally understood how many things I had called “fine” so she would not worry.

That night she said:

“Come home for dinner before you leave.”

I did.

My father cooked.

Nobody mentioned Chu Dien once.

Day eight came.

At 8:46 p.m., I was in my new company apartment in Beijing, assembling a bookshelf badly enough that one side leaned slightly.

My phone vibrated.

Chu Dien.

I stared at his message.

Why haven’t you come home from work yet?

For several seconds, I actually laughed.

Then I replied:

Because I don’t work there anymore.

The phone rang immediately.

I answered.

“What does that mean?”

His voice was sharp.

“I moved to Beijing.”

Silence.

Then:

“You what?”

“I accepted the transfer.”

“When?”

“Four days ago.”

“Without telling me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re my wife!”

I sat on the floor beside the half-built bookshelf.

“And you disappeared for eight days without telling your wife where you were.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

He had no answer.

Then he said:

“Where are your things?”

“With me.”

“Your closet is empty.”

“Yes.”

“The cactus is gone.”

Despite everything, that almost made me smile.

“Yes.”

His breathing became heavier.

Then:

“There are divorce papers here.”

“Yes.”

The silence on the other end lasted so long that I checked whether the call had disconnected.

Finally he whispered:

“You’re divorcing me?”

“Yes.”

“For one argument?”

“No.”

“For eight days?”

“No.”

His voice rose.

“Then what?”

I answered:

“For the fact that you believed abandonment was something you could use to train me.”

He stopped breathing.

I continued:

“You left me at an airport because you wanted me to suffer enough to chase you.”

“You disappeared because you wanted me frightened.”

“You told your friends not to tell me where you were.”

“You sat around waiting to see how long I would last.”

My voice remained quiet.

“That isn’t cooling off.”

“That’s manipulation.”

Chu Dien immediately said:

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“You wrote that you wanted me to learn.”

“I was angry!”

“And now I’m not.”

That frightened him.

He lowered his voice.

“Tri Y, I didn’t want a divorce.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t do this.”

“You wanted me to be afraid of one.”

“No!”

“You wanted me to believe I might lose you if I didn’t behave correctly.”

He went silent.

That was close enough.

The following afternoon, Chu Dien came to Beijing.

He waited downstairs at my office until I finished work.

When I saw him, he looked exhausted.

“Can we talk?”

I agreed.

We sat in a café.

He immediately said:

“I’m sorry about the airport.”

I waited.

“And about disappearing.”

I continued waiting.

His eyes reddened.

“I thought you would call.”

“I did.”

“Once.”

“Three times at the airport.”

He looked down.

“I turned the phone off.”

“I know.”

“I wanted you to be the one who came looking for me.”

“Why?”

His voice cracked.

“Because I was always the one who felt like I needed you more.”

That surprised me.

He continued:

“You travel.”

“You get promoted.”

“You solve everything.”

“You never ask me for money.”

“You don’t even complain when I come home late.”

“I started thinking that if I disappeared…”

He stopped.

I finished for him.

“You would finally prove I couldn’t live without you.”

“Yes.”

There it was.

Not another woman.

Not a secret family.

Not money.

Something simpler.

And somehow sadder.

Chu Dien had felt unnecessary.

Instead of telling me, he decided to manufacture a crisis where I would need him.

I asked:

“Did it work?”

He looked at me.

“No.”

“It taught me the opposite.”

His face broke.

I continued:

“You thought my independence meant I didn’t love you.”

“But do you know how many things I gave up because I did?”

He frowned.

“The Beijing promotion was offered two months ago.”

His eyes widened.

“I refused.”

“Why?”

“Because you asked what would happen to our home.”

He stared at me.

“I stayed for you.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked what staying cost me.”

Silence.

Then he said:

“Come back.”

“No.”

“I understand now.”

“I believe you.”

That surprised him.

“But understanding after I leave doesn’t mean I need to return.”

He reached for my hand.

I moved it away.

“Tri Y, six years…”

“Exactly.”

I looked at him.

“After six years, you still thought the best way to find out whether I loved you was to hurt me and count how many times I called.”

He started crying.

Quietly.

I did not enjoy it.

But I did not rescue him from it either.

Our divorce was finalized several months later.

There was no war.

No revenge.

No one lost everything.

We divided the savings.

Returned the apartment.

Kept our own cars.

And separated.

My mother struggled with it at first.

One day she said:

“But you two rarely fought.”

I answered:

“That was the problem.”

She never said it again.

A year and a half later, I returned to our old city for a conference.

Chu Dien and I met by coincidence at the airport.

The same airport.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he smiled sadly.

“You always hated this terminal.”

“Only for a while.”

He looked at my suitcase.

“Business?”

“Yes.”

“Still in Beijing?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

Then asked:

“Were you really not sad during those eight days?”

I looked at him.

“I was devastated on the first night.”

His expression changed.

“Then why didn’t you come find me?”

“Because missing someone and accepting how they treat you are two different things.”

He looked away.

After a moment, he said:

“I thought if you loved me enough, you would chase.”

I smiled faintly.

“And I thought if you loved me enough, you wouldn’t make me.”

That was the last thing we ever needed to say.

He walked toward one exit.

I walked toward another.

Years earlier, Chu Dien had left me outside that airport without looking back.

He believed I would stand there frightened.

Call him.

Beg.

Return home and become a softer wife.

Instead, I called a taxi.

Then I went to work.

Accepted the promotion I had once rejected for him.

Packed my belongings.

And stopped confusing endurance with marriage.

Eight days later, Chu Dien finally returned to our apartment and sent me a message:

Why haven’t you come home from work yet?

The answer was simple.

Because while he was waiting for me to chase him, I had finally stopped waiting for him to turn around.