When my husband, Max, refused to go to an old college friend’s wedding, I didn’t think much of it. “I’m not interested in people from our past,” he said, brushing me off. So I went alone — or so I thought. Hours later, I returned home to find our two kids abandoned and our only car missing. Max was gone.

Emma, our 7-year-old, casually told me he’d left for the wedding after a phone call. My heart sank. He’d lied. He’d taken my car, ditched our children, and rushed to a wedding he swore he’d never attend. I called the venue and told them not to let him in — and yes, to make sure he knew it was me who stopped him.

When I arrived, Max was outside, furious and yelling into his phone. Emily, the bride, came out — stunned to see us both. She confessed they had a history, that she’d only called to apologize for the past. “I didn’t ask him to come,” she said. Max claimed he was trying to stop her from making a mistake — like he did by marrying me.

That night, I tucked our kids in, promising they’d always be okay. And I meant it. Max texted to apologize, begging to talk. I simply replied: Not tonight, Max. Because I realized something painful but freeing — I don’t need to fight for someone who never fought for us.