The 100th Thing Is Letting You Go

The moment she clinched her third straight Best Actress award, right there on live television, with millions watching, my wife stood in a wedding gown, holding a ring Id designed, and proposed to her agent.

Her circle of friends, a flurry of retweets and well wishes, declared it was high time they got together.

I, too, quietly posted a comment: "Truly touching. Best wishes."

The next second, my phone rang. It was my wife, fuming.

"Dont be childish, Mark. This is the ninety-ninth task. Once Im done with the last one, Ill go public with us."

1.

The live chat was still flooded with congratulations.

I calmly ate the dinner that had long gone cold in front of me. It tasted awful. Much like the meager affection between Elara and me C flavorless, yet somehow hard to discard.

The video of Elaras passionate, heartfelt proposal to Jason Reed on the awards stage quickly went viral. The comment section was a unanimous chorus of fans praising them for finally finding their happily ever after, calling them soulmates.

I expressionlessly set down my chopsticks and opened Elaras social media. Her latest post was a photo of her and Jason locked in a deep embrace, captioned:

"Finally found you, glad I never gave up."

Below it, her close friends chimed in with identical blessings.

"My OTP is finally together!"

"This is what fairy tale love looks like!"

I scoffed, then casually typed a comment: "Truly touching. Best wishes." After sending it, I tossed my phone aside and drained the remaining red wine in my glass. A bitter taste spread through my mouth, mirroring the raw emotion churning inside me.

Knowing she might win, Id specifically cleared my schedule. Id prepared a table full of her favorite dishes and uncorked a cherished bottle of red wine, intending to celebrate with her.

Because of Jason, our relationship had steadily deteriorated. Id tried to confront her countless times, but each attempt ended with her giving me the cold shoulder and me, inevitably, giving in.

This time, I had thought, after she won the award, wed finally have that talk, clear the air. Shed even promised me shed come home to celebrate with me tonight, putting Jason aside.

I sat in front of the TV, brimming with anticipation, waiting for her winning moment, ready to cheer for her, waiting for her to come home.

And what did I get?

I watched her, tears welling in her eyes, change into a wedding gown. From her assistants hand, she took an exquisite velvet box, slowly opening it. Inside lay a pair of ringsa pair I had personally designed, meant for our long-overdue wedding ceremony.

"Jason," she said, her voice filled with deep affection, looking out at the audience. "I know youve always been there. Thank you for tolerating all my quirks and shortcomings, for being the man behind me. I"

Her voice caught, tears glistening in her eyes. "For my hundredth little gesture for you will you marry me?"

My wife, on a grand awards stage, before the entire world, had proposed to another man.

It was utterly, brutally ironic. I felt like Id been slapped hard across the face, a scorching pain blooming on my cheeks.

2.

She knew how much that ring meant to me, how much thought and effort Id poured into it.

Three years of dating, seven years of marriage.

When we got married, her career was just taking off. Her agent insisted that going public would harm her prospects. I understood. I supported her. I willingly became the man in the shadows. She promised that at the right time, she would reveal our relationship. I believed her, and for three years, I worked tirelessly, day and night, designing this wedding ring. I revised it countless times, pouring all my heart and soul into it.

I had so hoped it would be a testament to our love. I wanted to give her a magnificent wedding, to personally place this unique ring on her finger, and then tell the world she was my wife.

Instead, she put it on Jasons hand, turning it into a cruel thorn in my heart.

My phone screen lit up. It was a video call from Elara. Against my better judgment, I answered. The scene that greeted me sent a chill down my spine. In a bathroom, Elara, dressed in a seductive nightgown Id never seen beforelace and sheer fabric outlining her graceful figurewas carefully reapplying lipstick in the mirror. Jason held the phone, wearing only a bathrobe. "Honey, what are you doing?"

Elara playfully rolled her eyes at him, every curve of her lips and eyelids exuding charm.

The call ended.

I couldnt take it anymore. I grabbed my phone and typed a message:

"Lets get a divorce."

The message sent, my heart felt hollowed out, empty, leaving only an expanse of bitter emptiness.

Three hours later, Elaras call finally came through, laced with pure venom.

"Mark, what the hell is wrong with you? Whats with this sudden divorce talk in the middle of the night?"

"Im home. Where are you?" I asked, my voice cold.

"Im celebrating with the team, why?" Her tone carried a hint of impatience.

I scoffed. "Elara, do you really take me for a fool?"

Elaras voice hardened. "Believe what you want! I dont have time for your drama, Im busy right now!"

Seeing her utter nonchalance, I suddenly felt a profound sense of weariness.

"Elara, lets get a divorce. Im serious."

I hung up. My mind replayed the last ten years with Elara, every single memory. I picked up my suitcase and walked out of the house without a backward glance.

The second floor of my studio had a lounge, a place I usually used for quick naps. Now, it was my temporary refuge. I sat slumped on the cold floor, drinking. In a haze, I dreamt of when Elara and I first got together.

She was so young and innocent then, her eyes full of adoration for me. Id casually mentioned wanting a new gaming console. Shed said, "Waste of money," but secretly, shed saved up for ages, scrimping and sacrificing, just to buy it for me. Her joy then was purer than any gift she could have received.

3.

I woke the next day with a splitting headache. My phone screen flashed with dozens of unread messages, all from Elara.

"Where are you? Why arent you answering?"

"I bought your favorite matcha cake, when are you coming home?"

"Mark, can you please stop being so unreasonable?"

"Is this about Jason again? Dont push it too far!"

Unreasonable? Pushing it? I scoffed and blocked her number.

When did I become the unreasonable, irrational one in her eyes? Perhaps it was when she started publicly documenting her "100 small gestures for Jason" on social media. Id questioned her then, and shed nonchalantly brushed it off.

"Its just to keep up appearances, to grab attention."

I believed her.

Again and again, I chose to trust her, lowering my boundaries each time. I convinced myself to understand her, to be empathetic. I thought that once she completed her 100 gestures, she would settle down with me.

But I was wrong.

Her attitude toward me grew increasingly perfunctory, increasingly impatient. Our arguments became more frequent, each ending with my surrender. I was afraid she would really leave me, even more afraid of losing her.

I was forced to accept her late-night trips to the beach with Jason to watch the sunrise. I accepted their passionate kiss in a bar on our anniversary. I even accepted her taking off for a month-long trip abroad with Jason without a word.

She never told me about these things; I always found out from her social media updates. Every time I saw them, it felt like a knife twisting in my heart. Everyone else was cheering for their love, while I swallowed all my grievances alone. The ridiculous part was, I still had to pretend everything was normal, asking her, "Busy with work lately?"

Shed always answer nonchalantly, "Hmm, I guess."

And then, nothing.

It was as if an insurmountable chasm had opened between us. I was an outsider, watching my wife openly flirt with another man. I wanted to let go countless times, but each time I saw her return home exhausted, saw her occasional flashes of vulnerability, my heart softened.

I lied to myself, saying it was just for work, just an act. But now I finally understood: I had lost, completely and utterly.

An email popped into my inbox, sender: Daniel William, a renowned designer. The email was concise, expressing admiration for my design style and a sincere invitation to join his team. My fingers trembled slightly as I replied, accepting his offer.

Deep down, I still wanted to prove that without Elara, without this marriage, I, Mark, could live a more fulfilling life.

That afternoon, I was buried in perfecting a design draft in my studio when Elara suddenly appeared. She was wearing a perfectly tailored white suit today, sunglasses hiding her eyes but not the star aura emanating from her. My colleagues couldnt help but steal glances and whisper about her.

She had always been proud; after the first year of our relationship, she never came to my studio again. Before, if she could just come by to see me, I would be ecstatic, like a fool, wanting to tell the whole world she was my wife.

But now, I merely gave her a fleeting glance and continued working.

"Mark, why arent you talking to me?" She walked over, draped her arms intimately around mine, her voice a slight whine. I felt uncomfortable with her closeness, subtly pulled my hand away, and said flatly, "Something wrong?"

"Last night, I was too caught up in the celebration, I forgot to celebrate with you. Can we make it up tonight?"

"No need, I dont think we have anything to celebrate."

Elara froze, a hint of hurt in her voice. "Mark, whats wrong? Are you still angry with me?"

"If you dont have anything important, please go home. I have a lot of work to do," I said coldly, unwilling to waste any more words on her.

She bit her lip, her eyes slightly red. "Dont be mad. Shall we go to dinner together?"

Looking at her pitiful expression and the curious stares of my colleagues, I finally gave in. "Lets go."

4.

I pulled open the passenger door, only to be met by a pair of men's slippers. I looked at Elara, expressionless.

"Jasons. Ill put them in the back," she stammered, grabbing the slippers and tossing them into the back seat, her embarrassment barely concealed.

I said nothing, sliding into the car, but my hand froze before buckling my seatbelt. Tucked into the crease was a used condom, still there. I couldn't maintain my composure anymore. I snatched the damn thing out and flung it onto the seat.

Elara's face instantly went pale. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Of course, she knew what it meant.

I slammed the door and got into the back seat. I watched her coldly, like a stranger, a stranger who made me sick. The white suit she wore today was clearly a matching set with the one Jason posted on his social media last week.

I casually glanced at the back seat. Jason's personal items were scattered everywhere: spare clothes, his usual hairspray, even an unread script... Before, Elara would always complain about my messy things, insisting no clutter in the car, saying it ruined the aesthetic. Now, Jason's things shamelessly occupied her car. Just like their relationship, shamelessly occupying my life, my marriage.

All this time, I had been deceiving myself, deliberately ignoring those glaring details, pretending everything was normal. But now, this car full of "evidence" had slapped me awake, leaving me nowhere to hide.

"Mark, listen to me, my hundred gestures for Jason are over. Ill find a way to go public with us." Elaras voice was laced with panic and a plea.

Over? So what? The thought of her using my designed ring to propose to Jason in public made me realize this marriage had long ceased to be worth anything.

Rain drizzled outside the window. I felt a little drowsy. A jarring screech of brakes jolted me awake. I looked up to see a familiar figure standing in front of the car.

Jason. He was soaked through, rain dripping from his hair, his face pale, looking utterly miserable. Elara frantically unlatched the door and rushed out. "Jason, are you okay? Were you hit?"

I watched her coldly as she ran to Jason, meticulously checking him for injuries. Elara helped Jason into the car, then turned to me, anxiously.

"Mark, Jasons soaked. Can I drop him home first, then we can go to dinner?"

Seeing her frantic expression, the last flicker of hope in my heart died out. "Go ahead and drop him off," I said expressionlessly. "Pull over somewhere with cover and let me out."

"Mark, why are you being so suspicious again? Im just worried Jason will get a fever," Elara frowned, clearly annoyed.

"I understand. Just drop me off, then you can go." I thought I sounded quite composed, even a little nonchalant.

Elaras voice suddenly rose, full of anger and accusation. "Jason has been in the rain for so long; do you really have to be so suspicious now? Will you only be satisfied if he gets sick?"

At that moment, Jason weakly spoke up, "Elara, its fine. Ill just call a cab later. Don't let me disrupt your dinner."

I watched their interaction, finding it incredibly jarring.

"No, you cant. Youre soaked like this, what if you get a fever?" Elara refused without thinking, her voice full of worry.

Sitting in the back seat, watching their intimate gestures, I suddenly felt incredibly ridiculous. Elara seemed to lose patience. She snapped at me fiercely: "If you dont want to come along, then get out now. Dont waste our time." She reached to pull me out of the car.

A sharp pain pierced my heart, and I let her push me out. The heavy rain poured down, instantly drenching me. I stood by the roadside, watching Elara drive away without hesitation.

It was hard to find a cab in the downpour. I walked for a long time before finally reaching a sheltered spot. I was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. By the time I got back to the studio, I was burning up, my mind hazy. Thankfully, a colleague working late saw me and rushed me to the hospital.

In and out of consciousness, I saw my colleague bustling around, buying me porridge, pouring me water. Eating the bland congee, tears streamed down my face, unstoppable. How long had it been since someone cared for me like this?

I suddenly remembered how, when we first dated, if I got sick, Elara would drop everything and rush to my side to take care of me. Now, only a colleague was by my side.

Upon returning to the studio, I sent Elara an email. The content was simple, just one line:

"Ive drafted the divorce papers. Sign them."

I scrolled through my phone. There were a few messages from Elara, all sent half an hour ago, asking if I had gotten home. Her tone was as demanding as ever, with a perfunctory concern:

"Dont be so childish next time. Im not going anywhere."

"Learn to be as considerate and generous as Jason, stop being so petty."

"Ill give you all the security you want, dont be so small-minded. Ill come home to stay with you tonight."

Reading these messages, I let out a humorless laugh. She probably hadnt been back to our house since the awards, having no idea I had already moved out. I expressionlessly blocked her number. Out of sight, out of mind.