None of this made sense. David and I had married young—right out of high school. Despite the usual spats, our bond had always strengthened through adversity.
Until that note surfaced.
I reflected on the arguments we’d had—sure, they were tough, but they always brought us closer.
I recalled his late nights and business trips.
One evening lingered in my memory, sitting in bed with ice cream while David packed a suitcase.
“I’m just gone for the weekend,” he assured me.
“Where will you be?” I inquired.
“At a hotel,” he replied.
“But I won’t be alone. A colleague is sharing the room with me.”
I nodded, trusting him completely; he had never given me a reason to doubt him.
Now, I sat back and watched as David restrained himself from comforting Isabelle, his pained expression signaling internal conflict.
That was the deepest cut—seeing him care for her, longing to reach out in my presence.
I didn’t believe our marriage was over, but in that moment, my heart shattered completely.
“I’ll start the divorce process,” I declared to David, rising to leave.
“You’ll need to explain this to the girls; I’m not doing it.”
As I exited, the restaurant blurred into insignificance.
The night air struck me colder as I made my way to my car. I faced my betrayal but knew I had much to process.
I needed to remain strong for my daughters; I understood that this divorce would devastate them and our family.
But David had left me with no choice.
What would you have done?
