Smooth Sailing After Divorce
Episode 1: Prologue
You fucking bitch.
Even as my consciousness fades, these are the words I want to say.
That bitch is a fucking whore. The destroyer of my life, a thorn in my throat—no, my very cross! Someone I would cruelly revenge against even if I devoted everything I had.
God, if You give me a chance, even if I must sell my soul… No, actually, I don’t care if it’s a demon or whatever. If anyone gives me a chance at revenge, I’d gladly sell my soul.
But unfortunately, I am sinking right now. At this rate, I’ll meet death in a few seconds.
Little by little, my lungs, engorged with water, become a sinker dragging me down to the seabed of the abyss below.
A miserable ending where I wasn’t even granted my remaining life, let alone revenge.
[Gurgle.]
The remaining air in my body escapes. My final dying words become a ridiculous sound, transforming into water droplets before my eyes.
My vision blurs and my senses fade. My gasping breath ceases. Everything grows hazy. My sight, my consciousness.
Go Minju. These three syllables that send rage coursing through me at the mere sound are terribly significant to me. Of course, not in a good way, but a bad one.
That fucking bitch wore a brazen expression even before killing me, spewing all kinds of absurd bullshit.
If that bitch has one specialty, it’s probably the skill of effortlessly spewing dogshit-tier nonsense to subdue her opponent. I believe they call this gaslighting. Anyway.
The shit she spews is entirely illogical and emotional, but when combined with that bitch’s venomous expression and soprano high notes, from the listener’s perspective, one ends up writhing in unbearable agony.
Even if I somehow returned alive, she’d probably chew me out without her expression changing one bit.
“How did you come back? Sorry, but it’s all your fault. What goes around comes around, don’t you know?” Etcetera. I don’t need to see it to know.
Ah, though since I did come back alive, maybe she’d at least pretend to be a little surprised.
Minju, who spewed that marriage is about reality, as always had a tendency to project her own desires onto her family or child to resolve them.
Too difficult? Hmm, to put it simply, you can think of it as being scolded that it’s all because she insists on having everything her own fucking way.
That self-important “realist” Go Minju, as always, used me as an excuse to indulge in unbefitting luxury and leisure.
And though I only learned of this today, it seems she has continued her relationship with the so-called Geum Taeyang since before our marriage.
The child? Naturally, it is the byproduct of that fucking bitch and fucking bastard couple.
So the result of her rolling that “realistic” head of hers was ultimately my death.
Now I can’t see anything. Beyond my fading consciousness, only the sensation of my body sprawling across the riverbed reaches me.
My age: thirty-five. No matter how hard I try to think positively, it is too short a life to die.
Though it’s absurd, if there were a life reset button, I’m confident I would live completely differently.
At the very least, I’m confident I wouldn’t spend my whole life being played for a cuckold. No, isn’t that obvious?
But sadly, since such a chance will never exist, it is probably a futile wish. Bye-bye, my fucked-up life.