He called, and I did not answer.
What else was left to say?
The divorce took months.
It was not ugly. There were no screaming hearings or dramatic confrontations.
I was done, and I just wanted him gone.
There were just signatures, disclosures, negotiations, and the slow legal dismantling of a life I had believed was permanent.
It’s been a year, and some people ask if I know what happened with him and Emily.
I don’t.
I never wanted to know.
Because healing, it turns out, is not always about getting the full story.
Sometimes it is about refusing to keep bleeding for information.
Today, I am on a plane again.
I had always wanted to travel and write, but marriage had a way of turning dreams into things you postponed politely.
There would be time later.
When schedules calmed down. When the house was paid off. When life got less busy.
