I married the same man seven times.

And he divorced me seven times for the woman he truly loved.

When we first got married, he told me, "I'll love you—only you—for the rest of my life."

But every time that woman returned to the country, he became a different person. "Can't you be more understanding? Do you really have to make Cara look like some homewrecker?"

The first time we divorced, I slit my wrists, trying to make him stay. The ambulance rushed me to the hospital, but he never came to see me—not even once.

After the second divorce, I stooped so low as to apply to be his assistant, just to catch glimpses of him now and then.

By the sixth divorce, I'd become accustomed to packing up and moving out of our home on my own.

My hysterics, my begging, my compromises—all fed into the same cruel cycle: he'd marry me again, only to leave the moment she returned.

This time, I decided to end it all. When I found out she was coming back, I handed him the divorce papers myself.

As usual, he set a date for our next remarriage, not knowing I was leaving for good.

***

"Carolina is back. Let's get a divorce."

I handed the signed divorce agreement to my husband, Orlando Wagner, with a blank face.

He was clearly caught off guard for a second, but quickly regained his composure and signed the papers with practiced ease. It was the first time I had been the one to bring up the divorce.

Just like the previous six times, he promised, "We'll remarry after she leaves in a month."

The old me would have made him swear a solemn oath or put it in writing. His word alone wasn't enough to make me feel secure.

But this time, I felt nothing. I didn't even want to respond.

"Gretchen, I'm talking to you."

Orlando frowned, clearly unhappy with my silence.

I nodded. "OK."

As I spoke, I kept folding clothes and placing them into my suitcase.

Since Orlando promised we'd remarry in a month, he would keep his word.

One thing was certain—he had a well-known reputation in the business world for honoring his promises.

To be honest, we weren't exactly like husband and wife.

We were more like business partners, endlessly renewing and ending agreements—marriage certificates, then divorce papers—always within a set timeframe.

We had two contracts a year. By now, I had signed twelve of them.

I still remembered what Orlando told me at our first wedding. "I won't betray you while we're married."

And he never did.

After all, whenever he wanted to be with that woman, he simply asked for a divorce.

The cost was that I became the laughingstock of our social circle—the woman who would do anything to keep him, only to be discarded once I was no longer useful.

I wasn't like myself today, which seemed to unsettle Orlando.

He still vividly remembered how hysterical I had been during our previous divorces—how I'd even hurt myself.

Watching me pack more quickly and skillfully than the last time, he said stiffly, "How about I move out this time—"

I snapped my oversized suitcase shut, cutting him off.

"I've already talked to Kristen. I'll stay at her place for a few days."

Orlando's expression darkened, as if he'd just remembered something.

"Don't tell me you're playing hard to get again—planning to pose as my assistant and wait for me in the office.

"Gretchen, give me a break. Can't you find something else to do? Stop acting so pathetic, like you can't live without me."

I understood exactly what he meant. He didn't want me showing up at the office and interrupting his time with Carolina Ramsey.

She rarely came back, after all. Of course, he wanted her by his side as his assistant around the clock.

After the second divorce, I applied to be Orlando's assistant and got the job. One day, holding his favorite latte, I pushed open his office door eagerly.

Yet what came into my view was him passionately kissing Carolina on his lap.

I lost it and slapped her. Then Orlando slapped me back, harder, and I fell to the floor.

Curious onlookers gathered outside the door.

They thought I was still married to Orlando and looked at Carolina with contempt.

To protect her from judgment, Orlando snatched my bag and dumped everything out—right in front of everyone, though I cried desperately, shaking my head, begging him not to.

The divorce certificate fell into plain view, exposing the truth about our relationship to everyone.

From then on, every time we divorced, Orlando would post a photo of our divorce certificate on Instagram.

Soon, everyone knew Carolina was his true love, and I was just the desperate ex who wouldn't let go.

But this time, Orlando's worries were unnecessary.

I picked up my suitcase without hesitation.

"Relax. I won't bother you and Carolina again."

He watched me skeptically. It wasn't until I had one foot out the door that he spoke again, his voice tinged with urgency. "We'll remarry on the 13th of next month. Don't forget."

For a moment, I was stunned.

What a coincidence. That was exactly the day I was leaving the country.

Not surprisingly, after Carolina returned, Orlando didn't reach out to me once.

In the past, after each divorce, I'd have been tracking his every move—staking out his usual spots, acting as if I were possessed. But not this time. Instead, I was living it up with my best friend, Kristen Murray—days filled with pizza and craft beer, nights with burgers and wings.

Soon, there were only twenty days left before I'd leave the country.

One afternoon, while waiting for our food at a restaurant with Kristen, I spotted Orlando and Carolina.

He had his arm wrapped around her waist as they walked in, chatting and smiling, looking like they were made for each other.

"Gretchen?"

Orlando's eyes locked on me immediately.

Carolina looped her arms around his neck and flashed a sweet smile.

"Hey, Gretch. What a coincidence."

Noticing my gaze on her, Orlando instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her.

I knew what he was thinking—he was afraid I'd lose it and hit her, as I had before.

But I didn't lose my cool. I even held Kristen back when she furiously moved to stand up for me.

I just smiled faintly.

"Yeah. What a surprise."

Sensing my concession, Carolina smiled even more brazenly.

"I'm so sorry, Gretch. Orly said he'd booked the entire restaurant so we could have the place to ourselves. You might have to eat somewhere else."

She shook Orlando's arm, saying coquettishly, "Isn't that right, Orly? Say something, or Gretch might think I'm targeting her."

Meeting my indifferent gaze, Orlando hesitated for a moment. But in the end, he gave a short nod.

He didn't say a word, but his silence spoke louder than anything.

Furious, Kristen rolled up her sleeves, but I gently pressed her arm.

"It's fine. We can go somewhere else."

I'd go somewhere without Orlando.

With my move abroad just around the corner, I didn't want to waste another second arguing with my ex.

After all, like they said—an ex should be dead to you.

The restaurant manager, sensing the situation, stepped forward to flatter Orlando and Carolina. "You two look so deeply in love. It's truly admirable."

Hearing that, Orlando turned to look at me, his expression complicated—as if he was wary of what I might say, or maybe curious.

To his surprise, I just took Kristen's hand, stood up, and walked out without a word—as if I hadn't heard any of it.

He couldn't help but stare at my retreating figure, lost in thought.

It wasn't until Carolina called his name several times—her tone growing impatient—that he finally, reluctantly, looked away.

I thought the run-in at the restaurant would be my last time seeing Orlando before I left the country.

But the same day I officially resigned as his assistant, he video-called me that night.

It was so unusual—he never called. Fighting the urge to reject it, I accepted the call, but switched to audio only.

His displeasure was immediate. "Why only audio?"

"I'm not wearing any makeup," I said perfunctorily.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. It sounded like I still cared what he thought.

Sure enough, he chuckled, his mood seeming to lift.

"We've been married for so long. I've seen you in every state."

It almost sounded like flirting, which only annoyed me more. "What do you want?" I asked, my tone detached.

He noticed the distance in my voice and sat up a little straighter. "HR told me you resigned."

I didn't explain. "Yes."

Silence hung between us.

Then he spoke again, his tone teasing—but it felt like he was just filling the space. "Maybe it's for the best. You're my wife—why were you working as an assistant, anyway? It's almost like you wanted to make life harder for yourself.

"To be honest, you were one poor performer. You were barely ever at work, and I still had to pay you every month. Everyone knew you got the job through connections. They said I was playing favorites."

I cut him off impatiently, "Don't you need to be with Carolina?"

He muttered, almost without thinking, "Why would I? She's no one to me."

Then he went quiet. It seemed to hit him—I was just his ex-wife.

He instantly felt a bit guilty.

"I'm sorry about all the divorces. I know it's not fair to you.

"I just ... didn't want anyone pointing fingers at Cara."

I said nothing.

He was so worried about Carolina's reputation, but he never minded making me the laughingstock of our entire social circle.

My voice turned icy. "Is that all? I'm hanging up."

"Wait!"

Orlando's tone turned urgent. "The 12th is our wedding anniversary. Adele has a concert that night. I know you've always wanted to go. Let's go together, alright?"

For a second, I almost told him the truth—that I wouldn't be here.

But before I could speak, Carolina's voice floated in from the background. "Orly, I forgot my towel. Can you bring it to me?"

Instead of answering right away, Orlando stayed quiet, staring at my name on the screen as if torn.

"Go," I urged, expressionless.

He stood up slowly but didn't hang up.

"Wait for me, Gretch. I'll be right back."

Then I heard him walk toward the bathroom.

Unsurprisingly, not long after, there were soft sounds of kissing, a muffled groan from him, and then the bathroom door slammed shut.

I hung up with a mocking smile.

Just then, Kristen excitedly asked me to hang out in a pub.

Without a second thought, I put my phone down, stood up, and linked my arm with hers.

What a fool I'd been, losing sleep over someone so worthless, when life offered so much joy. But that was over. I had turned the page, leaving him as nothing but a memory.

The days without Orlando passed quickly. Before I knew it, I only had a handful of days left before my departure.

Even though I hadn't spoken to him, Kristen kept me updated on him and Carolina.

Apparently, they'd had a huge fight—he'd even stormed out of a party and left her there, humiliated.

Rumor had it I was the reason behind their argument.

I just laughed dismissively.

I wasn't that lovesick fool anymore—the one who used to refresh Instagram endlessly, hoping to catch some sign of him or Carolina, ready to rush to him at the first crack in their relationship just to tell him I was the one who loved him the most.

Besides, couples in the heat of romance always made up quickly after a fight.

So what if I was the reason? Hadn't I always been a tool to spice things up in their relationship?

Still, it was undeniable—after that, Orlando started calling me more often. I either declined his calls or made up excuses not to see him.

The day before my flight, he asked me to go to the Adele concert with him.

"I booked the tickets," he said. "Meet me tonight, alright, Gretch?

"It's our wedding anniversary. You're not going to turn me down today, are you?"

He'd never sounded so humble before.

In the past, he'd just crook a finger, and I'd come running, eager to please—only for him to turn away in the end for Carolina's sake.

But this time, I didn't know what to say.

Because today wasn't our wedding anniversary—it was the anniversary of our fourth remarriage.

After all the breakups and makeups, it had probably never crossed his mind that I'd meticulously remember everything related to him.

In the end, I agreed. Not for him—but because I really did want to see Adele.

That night, I waited at the entrance for a long time, but Orlando never showed.

Finally, a voice message came through. I clicked play, and his guilty voice filled the air, mixed with the noisy backdrop of the concert and Carolina's soft laughter.

"I'm sorry, Gretch. Cara isn't feeling well. I have to take her to the hospital.

"We have plenty of anniversaries ahead. After she leaves tomorrow, I'll accompany you to do whatever you want. Alright?"

The concert had already started. Adele's mellow voice echoed through the night.

"Never mind, I'll find someone like you...

"I wish nothing but the best for you, too..."

I closed the chat and opened Instagram for the first time in a month.

Right there, near the top of my feed, was a post from Carolina—a selfie with Orlando at the concert, uploaded just minutes earlier.

"Don't forget me, I beg...

"I remember you said..."

The lyrics felt deafening, mocking me for agreeing to come, for that tiny shred of hope I'd carried with me on the way here.

Now, even that last bit of hope was gone.

After all, this was the seventh divorce. I should've known better, shouldn't I?

But it didn't matter. This was the last time.

I went straight to the airport and sat there all night, my heart completely still.

At 7 a.m., I checked in for my flight.

Orlando messaged me on WhatsApp, asking when we should remarry. I didn't reply—I just blocked his contact.

At 8 a.m., I was in line for boarding.

Orlando called. I didn't answer and instead blocked his number.

At 9 a.m., I was seated on the plane.

As the flight attendant announced that all electronic devices should be switched to flight mode, my phone rang one last time. It was Kristen—or so I thought.

Then I heard Orlando's tense voice. "Gretch, where are you?"