Just a Guest

1

Seven times, I married the same man.

And seven times, for the sake of his one true love, my husband divorced me.

The first time we married, he told me, “For the rest of my life, I will love only you.”

But whenever she came back to town, his tune would change. “Can’t you be more understanding? Do you really want Avery to be branded a homewrecker?”

The first time we divorced, I slit my wrists in a desperate attempt to keep him. They rushed me to the hospital, but he never came. Not once.

The third time, I debased myself, applying for a job as his assistant, just for the chance to see him more often.

By the sixth time, I had learned to pack my things quietly and move out of our home without a fight.

My hysteria, my retreats, my quiet compliance—all of it earned me his punctual remarriages and his predictable betrayals.

Until this time. This time, after getting word that his precious Avery was returning, I was the one who handed him the divorce papers.

He set a date for our remarriage, just like all the other times, but he didn’t know.

This time, I was leaving for good.

2

“Avery’s back. We should get a divorce.”

I slid the signed papers across the table to my husband, Julian Croft.

For a moment, he looked stunned, but he recovered quickly, signing his name with a practiced ease.

This was the first time I had initiated it.

But he still made the same casual promise he always did.

“She’ll be gone in a month. We’ll get married again then.”

In the past, those words would have sent me spiraling, desperate for more reassurance. I would have demanded he swear an oath, sign a contract.

But this time, I felt nothing. No desire to respond at all.

“Gemma, are you listening to me?”

Julian’s brow furrowed, clearly annoyed by my silence.

I had to force a nod.

“Yes.”

My hands didn’t stop moving, folding clothes and placing them neatly into a suitcase.

Julian always kept his word about remarrying me. He was known in his industry for his integrity. That much was certain.

It was almost as if we weren’t a husband and wife, but two parties in a contract, periodically terminating and renewing our agreement. The marriage and divorce certificates were just paperwork, two a year, every year. To date, I had signed twelve.

I remembered on our wedding day, he promised he would never be unfaithful during our marriage.

And he had kept that promise.

After all, once we were divorced, he was free to be with whomever he wanted.

The only cost was my reputation. I was known throughout our social circle as his plaything, a woman he could summon and dismiss at will.

My unusual calm today seemed to unnerve him. The memory of my past hysterics, of the times I’d hurt myself, was still vivid in his mind.

He watched me pack, faster and more efficiently than ever before, and said, a little defensively, “I can be the one to move out this time…”

The snap of the suitcase latch closing cut him off.

“I’ve already arranged it with my friend. I’ll stay with her for a few days.”

A flicker of recogn...