Something inside me cracked in that moment.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just… quietly broke.
Because it wasn’t about the money anymore.
It was about what it meant.
About what he was really saying.
The next day, I called a lawyer.
Filling out the divorce papers felt surreal—like I was watching someone else’s life unfold in front of me. But with every signature, I felt a strange sense of clarity.
If we mattered so little to him… why were we still there?
When I told him I was leaving, he didn’t argue.
Didn’t apologize.
Didn’t even try to stop me.
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