He was on the phone with a friend, laughing. Not just a casual chuckle — a deep, smug kind of laugh. I was about to keep walking until I heard my name.
“She thinks we’re working things out,” he said.
“Truth is, I’m just sticking around so I don’t have to pay child support. A divorce would bleed me dry, man.”
He laughed again, like it was the cleverest thing he’d ever done. “Way cheaper to play house than to split everything and be broke.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This was the man I had shared my life with — the father of our kids. Someone I’d supported during his career slumps and late-night anxiety spirals. Someone I had trusted, forgiven, and stood beside, even when I probably shouldn’t have.
And he had reduced our entire marriage to a math equation.
The Pain of Realization
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