As I was finishing up, I called my brother. “Can you come over?” I asked, my voice steady but tired.
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “What’s going on?”
“Greg’s gone,” I said simply.
My brother arrived half an hour later, his presence a welcome relief.
He didn’t ask many questions, just hugged me and helped me carry Greg’s belongings to the front door.
By the time Greg returned the next night, I was ready.
He walked in, looking sheepish and hopeful. “Can we talk?” he asked softly.
I pointed to the pile of his belongings by the door. “No, Greg.
We’re done.”
“Please, just hear me out—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I said firmly. “Take your things and go.”
He stood there for a moment, as if he thought I might change my mind. When I didn’t, he sighed, grabbed his things, and walked out the door for the last time.
The next day, I filed for divorce.
It felt strange, almost surreal, but also like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
Over the next few months, I started to reclaim my life. I redecorated the house, filling it with things that made me happy. I spent time with friends and family, people who reminded me of who I was before Greg came along.
It wasn’t easy.
There were moments when I felt angry, hurt, and lonely. But each day, I felt a little lighter. A little freer.
One evening, as I sat in my newly redecorated living room, I looked around and realized something: I was happy.
Truly happy.
Greg’s betrayal had been painful, but it had also been a wake-up call. I had spent so much time trying to make our marriage work that I’d forgotten my own worth. Now, I was finally putting myself first.
As I closed the chapter on my marriage, I felt hopeful for the future.
Whatever came next, I knew I was strong enough to face it.
