He stopped at a shabby building with a flickering sign: “Personal Power & Boundaries for the Modern Man.” I crept closer. The windows were blacked out. Inside, I heard his voice: “I’ve got it down to a system.

Start a fight, make her think it’s her fault. Works every time.” Laughter. Dozens of men learning how to manipulate their partners. My heart didn’t shatter—it hardened. I drove home without a word. No tears, no screaming. Just clarity.

I packed what mattered—clothes, documents, my grandmother’s jewelry. Then I took the calendar and pinned it above his computer. Beneath today’s red dot, I wrote: “The night your game stopped being private.”

Then I walked out. No drama. No begging. Just the sound of the door clicking shut. And for the first time in months, Tom wasn’t the one walking away. I was. And it felt like freedom.