“I know everything,” I said. “So here’s how this will go. You’ll get the divorce you wanted. But the kids stay with me. The house stays with me. And you will not fight me, because the evidence I’m holding will bury you in court.”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. For the first time in years, he looked small.
The next morning, I called a lawyer. The process began.
Gavin moved out within two weeks. As for Lydia, from what I heard later, she quickly realized Gavin couldn’t give her the life she imagined. He was too busy scrambling to keep his reputation from imploding and too broke to be her “upgrade.”
Walking away from a twelve-year marriage hurt more than I expected. Some nights, after the kids were asleep, I cried harder than I ever had before. But even through the grief, there was relief—clean and bright—like someone had finally opened a window in a suffocating room.
I chose myself.
I chose my boys.
And I chose a life where loyalty is not a luxury.
I never looked back. Not even on the lonely days.
Because sometimes the truth shows up on the treatment table of your own business—and when it does, you either collapse, or you stand up stronger.
I chose to stand.
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