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It's been seven years since I divorced Kael Thorne. We ran into each other by accident at a boutique flower shop on Beacon Hill. It was a cold, rainy day in Boston. He was there to buy flowers for his pregnant wife. I had just ducked in to escape the downpour. After a moment of awkward silence, we exchanged greetings like normal acquaintances. Kael politely asked how I had been these past few years. I answered just as politely, "Not bad. Can't complain." As we were about to part ways, he started to open his umbrella at the door but suddenly turned back to look at me. "Elara, you look... different." I smiled but didn't answer. I just popped the collar of my coat. There wasn't really anything different about me. I just didn't love him anymore. The wet, biting wind peculiar to New England blew through the crack in the door. The shop went quiet, save for the sound of rain tapping against the display window. The silence was only broken when the shop owner came out holding a bouquet of irises. "Professor Thorne, you and your wife must be so in love. Coming out in such terrible weather just to buy her flowers." Kael took the flowers. He glanced at me subconsciously and gave his habitual explanation. "Lyra's... hormones are a bit unstable. Pregnancy is hard on her. Fresh flowers help calm her down." I nodded and gave a polite, generic response. "You're such a good husband." Seeing the rain let up, I picked up my tote bag to leave. Just as I reached the door, Kael suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Where did you park? My car is right outside. I'll give you a ride." "No need, thanks. I drove," I said. I took a few steps back, maintaining a proper social distance from Kael. My tone was calm. "Besides, I don't want your wife to misunderstand." As I turned to leave, Kael seemed to say something into the wind and rain. The wind was too loud; I didn't catch it. Unfortunately, the bag of takeout bagels in my hand had gotten soaked by the rain. I casually tossed the soggy breakfast into a roadside trash can. The wind blew up the sleeve of my trench coat, revealing the faint, pale scars on my wrist from years ago. I paused, suddenly remembering. This is the seventh year since I divorced Kael Thorne. And the third year since I completely let him go. There was no sadness like I had imagined. No breakdown like I used to have in my therapist's office right after the divorce. I was as calm as if I were looking at a stranger. The rain stopped, and the sky began to brighten. I pulled down my sleeve and walked toward my bakery. 2 Brynn, the part-time barista at my shop, was humming a tune. When she saw me walk in, she flashed a huge smile. "Hey, boss! You're finally back! I was just cleaning out the storage room and found this old box. Do you want to keep it or should I toss it? We need space for the new espresso machine." I brushed the dust off the box. The first thing I saw was Kael's handwriting—neat as a printed font. "To Elara." Brynn immediately got interested, leaning in with a teasing grin. "Ooh, who's your Romeo? This looks expensive." She couldn't wait to look at the signature at the bottom of the card. When she saw the name, she froze, her voice cracking. "Wait... Kael Thorne? The Kael Thorne?" "The physics genius from MIT? The one who discovered that asteroid and made the cover of Time magazine? The astrophysicist who looks like a movie star?!" Brynn looked at me with a gaze filled with disbelief and awe. "Elara, oh my god? How do you know him?" I opened the gift box and spoke calmly. "I'm his ex-wife." The ex-wife he once described as paranoid and emotionally unstable. The ex-wife who was institutionalized for severe mental health issues. The ex-wife he considered a stain on his life. Under Brynn's persistent questioning, I sat down at the bar, poured her a coffee, and told her the story of Kael and me. When I met Kael, he wasn't a legendary genius yet. He was a foster kid in Boston's South End—withdrawn, unlikable, and rejected by everyone. No friends, no family. His foster parents didn't want to be responsible for him and kicked him around like a soccer ball. It was the coldest winter Boston had seen in years. A blizzard had shut down the roads. Kael was wearing nothing but a thin hoodie, squatting at the bottom of the stairs in our apartment building, shivering. I felt sorry for him, so I brought him home and gave him a cup of hot cocoa. Later, while he was helping me fix a broken radio, my father accidentally discovered his amazing talent for math. From that point on, Kael's life trajectory changed completely. He won the state math championship at ten and got a full scholarship to Phillips Academy at fourteen. At sixteen, he published a paper that shocked the academic world, sweeping up awards left and right. The foster families who hadn't wanted him tried to come back and claim kinship to fight for custody. But he stood in front of the family court, pointing firmly at my father. "I know who my real family is. Mr. Vance and Elara—they are the only ones who ever cared about me. I swear, I will take care of them for the rest of my life." From then on, Kael's success was unstoppable, and he truly never thought of leaving me behind. When he got into MIT, he pulled strings to get me a job in the alumni relations department. When he stayed on as a professor, he ensured I had a comfortable position on campus. I worried I wouldn't be able to keep up with him. After all, there was a huge gap in IQ and social class between us. But Kael looked me in the eyes and said: "Elara, when I was eight, I sat in that hallway alone from dusk until dawn. You gave me that hot cocoa. I swore then that I would never leave you. Without you, there would be no Kael Thorne today. No matter how high I fly, I won't let go of you." That was the kind of person he was. He had the stubbornness typical of scientists. Once he decided on something, he would never let go. He was like that with his research projects. He was like that when he pursued me. And he was like that when he cheated on me. 3 "Wait, he cheated?!" Hearing this, Brynn's eyes went wide with disbelief, and she dropped her rag. "You guys were childhood sweethearts! This is like a Hallmark movie gone wrong. Who was it? Some socialite? A supermodel? Or one of those scheming grad students?" None of the above. Kael's affair partner was a plain college student who worked part-time in the community garden. At 27, Kael had already achieved extraordinary success in academia and secured tenure. He stopped chasing worldly fame and started pouring more energy into his private hobbies. He didn't like golf or sailing. Instead, he suddenly got interested in gardening. Imported, local, rare breeds, common breeds—Kael took them all, moving everything into the backyard of our Victorian brownstone. His favorite was the iris I had given him for his birthday that year. "This iris—it's what got me interested in botany. A seemingly insignificant seed can develop such a complex structure under the right conditions. It's fascinating. The whole process... I find it interesting." He said he liked flowers. But he liked controlling the blooming process even more. In his little backyard kingdom, he was God. Flowers bloomed and withered at his command. I couldn't understand the theories Kael spouted about plant growth cycles. A flower is a flower. You look at it when it blooms, you sweep it up when it dies. Why overthink it? Lyra, the work-study student helping in the garden, suddenly looked up. "Professor Thorne, you are absolutely right. I love that feeling too. Whether a plant thrives or withers and dies—it all depends on how the gardener cares for it." She glanced at me, then continued, "Look at this iris. It's growing so well because I've been taking such good care of it." That autumn, amidst the falling leaves of New England, the two of them connected. Because of the flowers. And because of me. After that, Kael often asked Lyra to order flower seeds and fertilizer. Roses, magnolias, lilacs—our house in Cambridge was turning into a botanical garden. Their relationship grew closer and closer. Until one day, Kael suddenly proposed sponsoring Lyra to finish her degree. "She's only nineteen. A bit rough around the edges, but she's smart and hardworking. It would be a shame if she dropped out because of tuition fees." Lyra nervously picked at the calluses on her hands from farm work, forcing an ingratiating smile on her fresh face. "Elara, I will work very hard, I promise. I only took a gap year because my mom was sick. If you give me this chance, I won't let you down." Her young face was written with the exhaustion of life. Looking into those sincere eyes, I suddenly remembered the helpless, lost look of eight-year-old Kael sitting in the stairwell. My heart softened once again. 4 For a long time, I took care of Lyra like she was my own little sister. I took her shopping for clothes suitable for class, taught her table manners, and explained how to navigate the social circles of the elite. She thanked me sincerely, saying I was the best person in the world to her. And she didn't let me down—she successfully got into the university where Kael and I worked to continue her studies. And on the night of Thanksgiving, right after getting her acceptance letter, she climbed into Kael's bed. I had left work early that day, wanting to make a turkey dinner to celebrate for Lyra. I came home and pushed open the study door. Only to see the two of them, clothes disheveled, kissing on the desk. Scattered on the floor were academic journals and her admission application. In that moment, I completely lost it. I threw the pumpkin pie in my hands at them and smashed every expensive potted plant in the study. Kael shielded Lyra behind him, watching my actions coldly, as if observing out-of-control experimental data. "Elara. Enough. Close the door when you're done breaking things. Lyra shouldn't see this." Between Lyra and me, he chose the other woman without hesitation. I couldn't stand it. I demanded an explanation from Kael. He frowned, adjusting his shirt collar. "Elara, you are still Mrs. Thorne. As long as you don't make a scene, Lyra won't affect your legal status. Can we... keep this dignified?" Lyra dropped to her knees in front of me, crying, tears streaming down her face like rain on a pear blossom. "Elara, I know I was wrong, but Kael and I—we are soulmates. We understand each other's hearts. I swear I will never forget everything you did for me. I don't need a title. I won't fight you for anything. I just want to stay by his side as his research assistant." I was only in my twenties then. Young, proud, and unable to swallow such an insult. I sent a formal report to the university's Title IX office and the ethics committee, wanting to expose the unethical relationship between professor and student. But reality taught me a lesson very quickly. The university wasn't going to fire a star professor with a shot at a Nobel Prize nomination over a "private matter." They gave me an "informal warning," stating my report "lacked substantial evidence," and hinted that if I continued to cause trouble, it might affect my own position. Kael even issued a public statement asking his colleagues to look out for Lyra. "This is my protégé. She comes from a humble background but is exceptionally gifted. I hope my colleagues will give her a fair chance and not hold prejudices against her due to any rumors. From working in a garden to entering this institution—this is the American Dream." Kael even admitted that Lyra's admission relied on his recommendation letter. He knew it crossed the line. But he didn't care. He only wanted Lyra to have a bright future. What about me? What was I? Just a joke of a housewife who only knew how to make pumpkin pie? I hid at home, crying night after night. All I could think about were the fake sympathies and the ridicule behind my back from our social circle. Kael continued to fiddle with his irises in the greenhouse. "Elara, you still don't understand, do you? Your job, your reputation, your social status—everything you have comes from being Mrs. Thorne. Without me, you are nothing in Boston. Lyra won't affect your life. Can't we... be rational? Can't we just let this work?" No. 5 I couldn't stand living with a husband whose heart was constantly with another woman. I started screaming and fighting at home, becoming hysterical, almost crazy in my revenge against the couple. When Kael gave speeches at academic conferences, I barged in trying to show photos of him and Lyra. When they gave media interviews, I rushed up to expose their hypocritical masks. I wrote countless report letters and posted endlessly on social media. But all I got in return was a recommendation for a "mental health evaluation." Kael was too smart. He gaslighted me until I broke down, then used the recordings of my breakdowns as evidence. His intellect, his status, and his knowledge of me allowed him to effortlessly crush me legally and morally. In the end, I was fired by the university and stripped of my spousal benefits. And Kael personally sent me to a psychiatric hospital for "voluntary" inpatient treatment. I spoke calmly, but Brynn's eyes were already red. She gripped her coffee cup tight, crying as she asked, "What happened next?" Next, the hospital discovered I was nearly five months pregnant. Kael took me home. The arrival of the baby made Kael choose a temporary compromise. He brought me back to that cold mansion, held my hand, and said: "Elara, I messed up. I know. But you can't keep doing this to yourself—to us. Your parents' hair turned white overnight because of this. People at church are whispering about them. You're an adult. You need to think rationally." He placed his hand on my lower abdomen. "Think about the baby. Think about your parents." Tears rolled into my palm. This time, for the sake of the child, I compromised. After all that, I was severely weakened, like my soul had been sucked out. Every day, I was like a walking zombie, staring blankly in that house full of flowers. Kael implemented a "rotation system"—Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he came back to keep me company, claiming it was prenatal education for the baby. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, he was out enjoying the sweetness of passionate love with Lyra. Ignoring his own stomach issues, he accompanied Lyra to check out every trendy new restaurant in Boston. Acai bowls, artisanal gelato, Momofuku pork buns—whatever Lyra liked, Kael accepted it all. This man, who used to think wasting ten minutes of life was shameful, was willing to sit through boring romantic comedies in the theater with Lyra. To protect Lyra's career, he allowed her to be listed as the second author on a cross-disciplinary paper—a serious violation in academia. To make Lyra happy, he even skipped important academic seminars. He trampled my dignity under his feet. And he trampled the rules and ethics of the academic world under his feet too. But what made me finally explode was the "unofficial wedding" Kael meticulously prepared for Lyra. That year, Kael rose to fame for discovering an asteroid. He not only made the cover of Time but also became a media darling because of his striking looks. 6 At the highlight of his life, Kael chose to share the glory with Lyra. He applied to the International Astronomical Union to name that asteroid "Lyra." The meaning: Kael and Lyra's promise under the stars. On the night of the award ceremony, under the dome of the planetarium at the famous Science Museum, he held a small "commitment ceremony" known only to his inner circle. When I saw Lyra in a white gown walking toward Kael, when I saw them exchanging vows under the giant star projection, I broke down again. Years ago, Kael and I had just gone to City Hall for a certificate. We never even had a wedding. Facing my many requests for a wedding, Kael had only said: "Elara, you know me. I don't do ceremonies or formalism. It's a waste of time and energy. I'd rather focus on my research." Because I loved him, I compromised. And because I loved him, I lost everything. My suppressed emotions collapsed completely. I rushed forward in front of all the guests, threw a glass of red wine onto Lyra's white dress, and slapped her hard across the face twice. Kael shoved me away. The ice water from a glass splashed onto my face as he spoke coldly: "Elara. You've gone too far." He demanded a divorce right there on the spot and moved to leave with Lyra. I didn't want to. I wasn't resigned to it, and I couldn't let go. I cried out to Kael: "If you walk out that door, I'll take our child and jump off this balcony." It was right there on the spiral staircase, during the struggle, that I fell. Maybe he just wanted to push me away. But I truly lost the long-awaited baby because of it. I was admitted to the psychiatric hospital again. This time, for severe depression accompanied by suicidal tendencies. At this point, I smiled, speaking in a relaxed, indifferent tone: "In my second year in the hospital, Kael officially filed for divorce. I fought to the end, but apart from this box of old junk, I got almost nothing." Brynn's eyes widened. "Wait, you didn't get anything in the settlement? You were married for years!" "His lawyers were smart. They painted me as mentally unstable, violent, and having made no financial contribution to the marriage. Although legally I should have been entitled to marital assets, the judge ruled against me because of my psychiatric record and those 'incidents.'" "In the end, I only got a very small settlement—just enough to pay off my medical bills. I signed an NDA, promising never to speak publicly about the marriage details or harass them. In exchange, he didn't pursue charges for the 'assault' at the planetarium." "For the first year after the divorce, I couldn't accept it. I thought about ending it all countless times. Because of my mental health history, I couldn't find a proper job. My parents went gray with worry, their health deteriorating day by day." "I was afraid they would worry, so I came to help at the family's old bakery, kneading dough every day. The repetitive work, the smell of fresh bread—it was therapeutic. My emotions actually stabilized." "Now, I've inherited this shop, and life is pretty good." My tone was calm. But Brynn was crying messy tears, blowing her nose into a tissue. "Elara, I can't believe you went through that. Kael is a scumbag. If I see him, I'm going to smash his head with a loaf of day-old sourdough!" Just as the words left her mouth, the bell above the bakery door jingled. A gust of cold wind rushed in, and Kael Thorne stood before us. His glasses were fogged up; I couldn't see his eyes clearly. But I suddenly remembered the sentence he said at the flower shop earlier. It seemed to be—

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It's been seven years since I divorced Kael Thorne. We ran into each other by accident at a boutique flower shop on Beacon Hill. It was a cold, rainy day in Bos