an itemized invoice for everything I do—grocery runs, school pickups, housework, childcare. The total? $28,900. “If we’re charging for services,” I said, “here’s what you owe me.” Then I gave him another envelope. Divorce papers. He was shocked, begging me to reconsider. But I told him, “I’m not your roommate with a bill. I was supposed to be your partner. And when I needed you most, you made me feel like a burden.” Six months later,

I pulled into my mom’s driveway in my own car, Emma singing in the backseat. She asked me, “Do you miss living with Daddy?” I thought for a moment and replied, “I miss what we were supposed to be—but not how it felt to be invisible.” I left because I needed more than shared bills. I needed love, respect, and someone who shows up when it matters. And I finally realized: my worth isn’t something you can put a price on.