A Good Ex

It has been exactly one year since I divorced Ben Shawn. Throughout this year, I have held fast to one rule: a decent ex should be as good as dead. Today is my dad's death anniversary. At daybreak, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, the delivery man held a bouquet of white roses, the petals still dusted with morning dew. "Are you Miss Wendy Scott? These are for you." I nodded and took the bouquet. Pinned to the stems was an off-white card. My fingertips traced the cold handwriting: "Give my regards to Mr. Scott." No need to wonder—I already knew who sent them. Ben Shawn, my ex-husband. I turned and went into the kitchen, lifting the trash can lid. The white roses were thrown in roughly, petals stirring up a bit of dust. I pulled the card out separately and tore it to pieces. The fragments fell onto the bouquet, eerily reminiscent of that unfinished marriage. Images from the past surfaced uncontrollably in my mind. On our wedding day, Ben Shawn wore a bespoke suit, his eyes shining with unmistakable tenderness. He held my hand and vowed before the priest to love me for a lifetime. At that moment, my dad stood beside us, smiling with clear satisfaction. He always said Ben Shawn was his proudest protégé, and that entrusting me to him was something to rest assured about. Looking back now, it's truly laughable. The betrayal came completely out of nowhere. That day, I left work early, hoping to surprise Ben Shawn. When I opened the door, I saw a pair of high heels at the entrance that weren't mine. The sounds coming from the bedroom stabbed my heart like a dull knife, cutting over and over again. I didn't storm in to confront them. I just stood quietly by the doorway until the noise stopped. When Ben came out and saw me, a flash of panic crossed his face. He tried to explain, but I raised my hand to stop him. I neither cried nor made a scene. I simply took out the divorce agreement I had long since prepared and placed it before him. At that moment, I still didn't realize how deeply this would wound my dad. When my dad learned the news, he collapsed immediately. By the time he was admitted to the hospital, the doctor said it was a sudden heart attack, and his condition was dire. In the hospital ward, my dad gripped my hand tightly, his eyes heavy with guilt. He said he had made a terrible mistake and ruined me. I swallowed my tears and told him it wasn't his fault. But I knew the weight in his heart would never lift. The office door was gently pushed open. Vivian Lincoln walked in carrying a cup of coffee and set it on my desk. She's been my secretary for years and knows everything. "Ms. Scott, are you all right?" She asked softly. I looked up at her and shook my head. "Just got word that Ben Shawn... might be coming back to the country." She hesitated before speaking. I tightened my grip on the coffee cup; my fingertips went white. "If he comes back, it's got nothing to do with me." My tone was flat, betraying no emotion. Vivian Lincoln sighed, "But Ms. Scott, this time he's back to lead a new project at headquarters and needs to do a domestic roadshow." "Our company has several collaborations with Shawn Group; we're bound to run into each other from time to time." "When that happens, will you... leave him any leeway?"