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“Divorce?” I asked, barely recognizing my own voice. “What about our four kids? What about everything we built?” “You’ll be fine,” he replied casually. “I’ll send money. You can sleep on the couch or stay with your sister. Miranda is moving in.” That night, I packed bags with shaking hands, gathered the children, and left the home I had poured years of love and effort into.
The weeks that followed were a blur of paperwork, sleepless nights, and quiet panic. But beneath the fear was something unexpected: resolve. I decided that the disrespect I experienced would be the last time I allowed anyone to shrink my value. When the kids slept, I sat with my thoughts and began rebuilding the version of myself I had abandoned while trying to save a marriage that no longer existed.
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