(A love story) The wife insisted on attending a class reunion. The husband was worried about her safety and put a recorder in her trouser pocket

1.

The divorce agreement lay on the coffee table, and the yellowed coffee stains looked like a frozen tear. I stared at it, remembering that day when the osmanthus flowers downstairs had fallen their third petals, she calmly said the word "divorce". In September 2018, the osmanthus flowers bloomed exceptionally early and were exceptionally fragrant, so fragrant that it made people panic. I subconsciously touched the third rib on my left chest, and it felt like there was a piece of ice there, freezing cold. It was clearly early autumn, but I felt like I had fallen into the dead of winter. That day was... Wednesday, no, it should be Thursday. She was wearing an off-white sweater with a small snagging on the collar. I remember it very clearly because I reached out to help her smooth it out, but she dodged. When she dodged, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes seemed to deepen a little, like ink stains on rice paper, lingering. My throat tightened, and I wanted to say something, but in the end I said nothing.

She insisted on attending the class reunion, saying that it was the 20th anniversary of her high school graduation and was of great significance. I felt a little uneasy, but I couldn't tell the specific reason. I just felt that since she started to attend various parties frequently, the distance between us has been getting farther and farther. She no longer snuggled up to me every night like before and chatted with me about family matters and daily necessities. She spoke less and less, and her eyes became more and more erratic, like a frightened bird, ready to fly away at any time. I watched her rummaging through boxes and cabinets to find clothes, trying one piece after another, and finally chose a dark green long skirt, which was the gift I gave her on our tenth wedding anniversary. She rarely wore it because she said the color was too dark and didn't suit her skin tone. But today, she put it on without hesitation.

I sat on the sofa, watching her applying lipstick in front of the mirror. The bright red bloomed on her lips, like a blooming poppy, beautiful but dangerous. My heart was like a broken enamel cup, with a piece missing that could never be made whole. I stood up and walked behind her, hugged her gently, and rested my chin on her shoulder. "Be careful on the road." My voice was a little hoarse, like the intermittent sound of electricity in an old radio. "Yeah." She responded lightly, without any emotion in her tone. I wanted to tell her how much I was afraid of losing her, but when the words came to my lips, they turned into, "Come back soon."

2.

After she left, the room was empty, as if its soul had been taken away. I walked to the balcony, and the pot of jasmine had withered, with only a few shriveled leaves left, shivering in the autumn wind. I remember that this pot of jasmine was her favorite, and she would water it and trim the branches and leaves every morning. She said that the fragrance of jasmine made her feel at ease. But now, this pot of jasmine is withering and dying like the feelings between us. The text message notification tone of the old Nokia mobile phone from 2008 suddenly sounded, breaking the silence of the room. It was a payment notice sent by the community property. I looked at the screen of my mobile phone and suddenly remembered that she also became absent-minded after receiving a text message that day.

An ominous premonition came over me, and I took out a small recorder and put it in her coat pocket. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't control myself. I was afraid of losing her. My hands were shaking like leaves in the wind. I told myself that I just wanted to know where she went, who she was with, and what she did. I just wanted to know the truth, nothing more.

3.

It was ten o'clock in the evening, and she hadn't come back yet. I sat on the sofa, constantly checking my phone, calling her every few minutes, but no one answered. My heart seemed to be tightly grasped by an invisible hand, and it became difficult to breathe. I got up and walked to the window, looking at the empty street downstairs. The dim light of the street lamps cast long shadows on the ground, like monsters with bared fangs and claws. The smell of baby milk mixed with disinfectant wafted from the clinic downstairs, and the pungent smell made me feel nauseous. I covered my chest, and my stomach was churning.

**Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock in the morning...** Time passed by, and she still didn't come back. I couldn't sit still anymore, so I put on my coat and rushed out of the house. I ran along the street like a headless fly, looking for her aimlessly. I went to the coffee shop she often went to, the shopping mall she often went to, and the home of her friends, but I still couldn't find her.

5.

She stood up, walked in front of me, and hugged me gently. "I'm sorry." Her voice was very soft, as light as a feather, but it felt heavy on my heart. I pushed her away, turned around and walked to the balcony, looking at the osmanthus tree downstairs. The osmanthus flowers had all fallen, leaving only bare branches, shivering in the night wind. I took a deep breath, and the air was filled with the faint fragrance of osmanthus, the smell of our first love.

**On the day of divorce, I smelled the sweet-scented osmanthus fragrance of my first love. This misplaced perception made me feel extremely ironic. **I turned around, looked at her, and asked, "Why?" She didn't answer, but just cried silently. I know that some things, even if you ask, you can't get the answer. I walked to the coffee table, picked up the divorce agreement, and signed my name on it.

The osmanthus flowers downstairs will bloom again next year, but our love has withered forever.