The 100th Thing Is Letting You GoChapter 1

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 I’d 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.

"Don’t be childish, Mark. This is the ninety-ninth task. Once I’m done with the last one, I’ll go public with us."

* * *

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 – flavorless, yet somehow hard to discard.

The video of Elara’s 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 Elara’s 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, I’d specifically cleared my schedule. I’d 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. I’d 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, we’d finally have that talk, clear the air. She’d even promised me she’d 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 assistant’s hand, she took an exquisite velvet box, slowly opening it. Inside lay a pair of rings—a 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 you’ve 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 I’d been slapped hard across the face, a scorching pain blooming on my cheeks.