Page 1 of After my seventh divorce, I will not remarry

"Emma's back. We should get a divorce."

I slid the signed papers across the table to my husband, Ryan Hugh.

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.

"Tiffany, are you listening to me?"

Ryan'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.

Ryan 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 recognition crossed Ryan's face, and his expression soured.

"Don't tell me you're playing hard to get again. Are you going to sneak into the company disguised as an assistant to watch me?"

"Tiffany, can't you get a life? Are you really that incapable of living without a man?"

I understood his subtext perfectly. He just didn't want me showing up at his office and disturbing his precious time with Emma. She was only in town for a short while, after all, and he wanted her by his side, in her role as his special assistant.

After our second divorce, I had successfully applied for that assistant position. I had walked into his office holding his favorite latte, my heart full of hope.

I found him locked in a passionate kiss with Emma, who was sitting on his lap.

I lost control and attacked her. Ryan slapped me so hard I fell to the floor.

A crowd of employees gathered outside the office, gawking at the spectacle. They all thought I was still the CEO's wife, and their gazes on Emma were filled with contempt.

To protect Emma's reputation, Ryan ignored my tearful pleas, snatched my purse, and dumped its contents onto the floor.

The deep red of the divorce certificate was like a gaping mouth, screaming the truth of our relationship to the entire world.

From then on, every time we divorced, Ryan made sure to announce it publicly.

Everyone knew Ryan loved Emma.

And everyone knew I was the shameless one, clinging to him, refusing to let go.

But this time, Ryan's fears were unfounded.

I picked up my suitcase without hesitation.

"Don't worry. I won't bother you again."

He eyed me with suspicion, but as I opened the door and stepped out, he called after me, a hint of urgency in his voice.

"We're getting remarried on the 13th of next month. Don't you forget."

I froze for a second.

What a coincidence.

The 13th was the day I was leaving the country.