“Come on, have a drink, let me get you some food.”
But I couldn’t. Something inside me had cracked, and no amount of praise or attention from her friends could fix it.
“I can’t stay,” I said. “The second part of your gift is waiting for you at home.”
Her eyes lit up with excitement.
“What is it? Tell me!”
“You’ll see,” I said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before walking away. I didn’t look back.
When Jenna returned home later that night, she found the house dark and eerily quiet.
The only light came from the kitchen, where a single envelope sat on the table.
I’d left a letter for her.
Dear Jenna,
I spent a year saving for those earrings because I wanted you to feel loved, cherished, and appreciated. You always said you loved jewelry but never treated yourself, so I wanted to give you something special. Something to show you how much you mean to me.
But tonight, I realized that no matter how much I give, it will never be enough.
Hearing you say you were embarrassed of me, of us, broke something inside me. I’ve always believed love was about more than material things, but you’ve made it clear that appearances and comparisons matter more.
So, here’s the second part of your gift: FREEDOM. For both of us.
I’m filing for divorce.
I deserve someone who values me for who I am, not for what I can buy. And you deserve someone who can give you the lifestyle you clearly want.
Please don’t contact me. This is goodbye.
—Lucas
Over the next few days, Jenna called me repeatedly, leaving tearful messages begging for forgiveness.
She said she’d made a mistake, that she didn’t mean what she said, and that she wanted to fix things.
But I was done. I sent her one final text.
Don’t contact me again. It’s over.
Then I blocked her number and moved forward with the divorce.
Now, months later, I feel lighter, as if a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying has been lifted.
Losing Jenna was painful, but knowing I’ll never have to endure her constant comparisons or unspoken disappointment again?
That’s a relief I can’t put into words.
Source: amomama
