When I confronted Troy, I did not scream at first.
I pleaded.
I asked him to explain where the money had gone. I asked why he had been traveling. I told him I could survive a painful truth more easily than a mystery that kept swallowing me whole.
But Troy refused to answer.
He did not rage. He did not defend himself passionately. He simply looked tired and told me I was imagining something bigger than reality.
That hurt more than anger would have.
A marriage can sometimes survive betrayal when truth finally enters the room. But it rarely survives secrecy that keeps locking the door.
Eventually, I filed for divorce.
Troy did not fight me.