“I can’t stay,” I said.
“The second part of your gift is waiting for you at home.”
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it? Tell me!”
“You’ll see,” I replied, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek before departing.
I didn’t look back.
When Jenna returned home that night, she found the house filled with darkness and an unsettling silence.
The only illumination came from the kitchen, where a single envelope sat on the table. I had 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’ve always expressed a desire for jewelry but never indulged yourself, so I hoped to give you something special to show how much you mean to me.
But tonight, I realized that no matter how much I give, it will never suffice.
Hearing you admit to being embarrassed by me, by us, broke something inside me. I’ve always believed that love transcends material possessions, but you’ve shown me that appearances and comparisons take precedence.
So, here’s the second part of your gift: FREEDOM—for both of us.
I am filing for divorce. I deserve someone who appreciates me for who I am, not what I can provide.
And you deserve someone who can meet the lifestyle you obviously desire.
Please do not try to contact me. This is goodbye.
—Lucas
In the days that followed, Jenna called me incessantly, leaving tearful voicemails pleading for forgiveness. She claimed she had made a mistake, that she hadn’t meant what she said, and that she wanted to work things out.
But I was resolute.
I sent her one last text.
Don’t reach out to me again. It’s over.
Then I blocked her number and moved forward with the divorce.
Now, months later, I feel unburdened, as though a weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying has been lifted.
Losing Jenna was difficult, but knowing I will never again endure her relentless comparisons or unspoken disappointments?
That relief is indescribable.
