She Is Not the Other Woman - Chapter 9
Chapter 9
The next morning, Song Zhiyi did not go to the office.
She sat in the living room with her laptop open in front of her.
At exactly nine o’clock, the scheduled email was sent.
The recipient wasn’t the media. It wasn’t a gossip blogger.
It was an email to herself.
To be precise, it was a post she had drafted three days ago, set to go live at 9:01 sharp.
The title was simply: “Timeline.”
No introduction. No emotion. Not even a subject.
When opened, it was a long image.
The left column was marked with dates. The right side was split into two columns: “What He Said to A” and “What He Said to B.”
Each row contained the words the same man had said to two different women on the same day.
April 17.
To A: “I kept thinking about you during the meeting today. I couldn’t focus at all.”
To B: “Had meetings all day, but my head was full of you. I was so distracted.”
Even the punctuation was unchanged.
June 21.
To A: “Business trip. Back Friday.”
Flight records showed no travel that day.
To B: “Finally off work. Can I see you tonight?”
The cruelest part wasn’t the content.
It was how identical it was.
What she wanted to present wasn’t the harm.
It was the pattern.
When one person’s deep affection was placed side by side like that, it was no longer deep affection.
It was a script.
At the very bottom of the long image, there was only one small line: I have entrusted a lawyer to initiate divorce proceedings.
Eleven minutes after the post went out, views broke one thousand.
Song Zhiyi closed the backend and sent her lawyer a message: “Can the final draft of the divorce agreement be ready today?”
The lawyer replied, “I’ll send it to you before eleven this morning.”
She tapped confirm, then opened another page.
Lin Zhi’s Weibo.
At 9:15, Lin Zhi had posted an update with only nine words:
“Wishing my ex a brilliant future. Blocked.”
She had not tagged anyone. She had not reposted the article.
Song Zhiyi looked at it for three seconds, then exited Weibo.
She didn’t need Lin Zhi to do anything more. This was what they had agreed on in advance: each would bring things to a close on her own, with dignity intact.
At 10:04, Fu Wenzhou called.
Song Zhiyi looked at the name on the screen and let it ring for eight seconds.
Then she answered.
“Are you insane?”
His voice was very low. Not calm. Out of control.
“What the hell are you trying to do? Do you have any idea that today, on Chen Li’s side-”
“I know.”
“You put all that out there. Have you thought about the consequences? We haven’t even talked. You won’t even talk to me-”
“Fu Wenzhou.”
She cut him off.
Her voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t shaking.
It was simply a very clear stop.
And he really did stop.
Silence stretched across both ends of the call. Song Zhiyi could hear his breathing, heavy and suppressed.
She spoke.
Very slowly.
“The messages you sent her and the messages you sent me even had the same typos.”
The other end of the line went completely silent.
The kind of silence that came after the final card had been torn away.
Song Zhiyi did not wait for his answer.
“The final draft of the divorce agreement will be ready today. Find time to read it.”
She hung up.
After ending the call, she leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes for a while.
She wasn’t tired.
It was the feeling of a tension that had lasted for a very long time finally being allowed to loosen, just a little.
Outside the window, the November sun was not warm, but it was bright.
Light fell across the laptop screen. The view count on the post was still climbing. She didn’t look.
Her phone rang again.
It wasn’t Fu Wenzhou.
It was Lin Zhi.
A very short message:
“I deleted him. What about you?”
Song Zhiyi looked at the line of text, and the corner of her mouth moved slightly.
It wasn’t a smile, but it was lighter than one.
She typed two words and sent them back:
“Deleted.”
Then she turned off her phone, stood up, went to the entryway, and changed into a pair of flats.
Keys, wallet, ID card.
She opened the door and stepped into the crisp November air.
When the sunlight fell across her face, she suddenly remembered one very small thing.
Fu Wenzhou had never remembered that she didn’t drink hot water. She had told him many times, and every time, he said he would remember.
He had not remembered.
He had only remembered to say, “I’ll remember.”
Song Zhiyi pulled the door shut behind her without looking back.
The sound of the lock falling into place was very soft. It rang once in the empty corridor, then disappeared.
