"Clear your schedule tomorrow morning, Friday. We're going to the Family Court to get a divorce."
I knew Harris wasn't drunk; he heard exactly what I said.
But he remained indifferent, furrowing his brow and holding his head, muttering for water.
In the past, whenever he had social engagements outside, I would stay home.
No matter how late it was, I would promptly bring him a cup of warm sobering tea.
But today, even if his voice was loud enough to wake momo, I still didn't go to the kitchen.
Harris narrowed his eyes, staring at me for a while.
Suddenly, he pulled out an exquisitely crafted small box from his pocket.
And tossed it onto the coffee table as if giving a tip.
Moving my neck, he smiled ambiguously and said to me.
"You caused such a fuss just to get this, didn't you?"
I didn't need to open it; I already knew there was a ring inside.
When I married Harris, we were both poor.
We could barely afford a wedding ring, let alone a new bed or bedding.
The night before we got our marriage certificate, Harris proposed to me on the highest hill in the city, kneeling down on one knee.