Desperate, he tried calling me.
I watched my phone ring, detached, as his calls went unanswered. I called the waiter over one more time and requested a piece of paper and one more bottle of champagne.
To a memorable double date and our divorce, cheers! I wrote, signing off at the bottom.
I left the restaurant feeling hurt and betrayed, my momentary bravery slipping away.
Mark came home that evening and packed his things, saying that he was going to Tom’s house. He apologized and said that he was just having fun.
Apparently, he needed to let off some steam from work stress.
It’s been a week, and we haven’t spoken since. But I think it’s time for me to file the divorce papers.If you were in my shoes, what would you have done?
