When the divorce was finally signed, I expected to cry.
I expected the moment to feel heavy, like a funeral for the woman I had been.
Instead, I stepped outside the attorney’s office and felt air move through me in a way I had not felt in months.
There was sadness, yes.
But beneath it was something stronger.
Relief.
I no longer had to question his stories, check his tone, or wonder why love felt lonely. I no longer had to carry the weight of a marriage that looked beautiful from the outside and hollow from within.
Andrew’s betrayal had not destroyed my worth.
It had exposed his character.
And leaving him was not the end of my story.
It was the first honest page.
The watch stayed in its box.
I never gave it to him.
Some gifts belong to people who understand time.
Andrew had wasted mine.
But he would not get another second.