The 100th Thing Is Letting You GoChapter 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 aren’t 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? Don’t 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. I’d questioned her then, and she’d nonchalantly brushed it off.

"It’s 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?"

She’d 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 couldn’t 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 aren’t 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 don’t think we have anything to celebrate."

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

"If you don’t 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. "Don’t be mad. Shall we go to dinner together?"

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