In the days that followed, I started building a life that wasn’t centered around loss. I began therapy, adopted a small orange cat who loved sleeping against my side, and relearned the simple joys I once cherished—walks at lunch, warm laundry, evenings spent in quiet comfort. I didn’t rush into dating or try to replace what I had lost. Instead, I rebuilt myself gently, piece by piece. And somewhere along that healing path, I realized I was finally free—free from betrayal, from expectations, and from believing I had to be the one holding everything together. Karma didn’t arrive with cruelty; it arrived with clarity. And in its own unexpected way, it helped me start again.
