I never imagined my life would fall apart in a single evening. One moment, I was cooking dinner for the man I had loved for eight years, and the next, he was standing in our living room telling me to “pack a few things and go.” No explanation. No remorse.Just cold detachment. I didn’t understand—until I saw her.
A 22-year-old girl, barely older than our marriage, came down the stairs wearing his shirt.She lingered behind him with a smug smile, like she had already won a prize she never earned. My husband didn’t even try to hide it. He told me he was “moving on” and that I needed to “respect his decision.” Then he changed the locks.
