The Nine-year Marriage Contract

My name is Evelyn Scott, and my marriage to Oven Luke was born from a nine-year family contract. I was seventeen that year; at a banquet hosted by our elders, I saw him for the first time and instantly fell into a love that seemed to last forever. He stood tall and poised, his brows and eyes cool and distant, as if all the world's noise had nothing to do with him. The elders smiled as they finalized the marriage agreement, saying it was set for nine years; if at the end we still loved each other, the contract would be renewed—if not, we would part amicably. I waited eagerly, hoping to warm his heart over those nine years. But nine years passed, and he remained cold and distant. Our home was so vast it felt like an isolated island; we lived under the same roof but in separate rooms, sat at the same table but with different hearts. He never initiates conversations with me, comes home later and later, and sometimes carries a scent of perfume that isn't mine. I pretend not to notice, still preparing warm dinners for him every day, ironing the shirts he'll wear the next day. I thought if I just waited one more year, maybe he would see my steadfastness; maybe when the contract ends, he would choose to stay. Until that day, when I went to the study to bring him coffee, I caught a glimpse of his phone screen lighting up on the desk. It was a message, the sender saved as "Vivian," with a short text: "Oven, in one month we can truly be together. I'm waiting for you." My blood froze instantly, my fingertips cold as they clenched the coffee cup. The warm liquid spilled onto my hand, yet I felt no warmth at all. Vivian, it turned out that the "waiting" he spoke of was for another woman. Nine years of devotion, nine years of unspoken love, all turned into a cruel joke at this very moment. I held back my tears as I left the study and returned to my room. The moment I closed the door, I broke down and cried bitterly. My heart felt torn apart, the pain so sharp I could hardly breathe. Since he had already decided to divorce, why should I cling to this last month any longer? I pulled out from the drawer the body donation agreement I had prepared long ago—something I had secretly made, thinking that if one day I were gone, perhaps I could still do something meaningful.