The night Flynn asked for a divorce, I knew he was hiding something. For weeks, he’d been distant, snapping over little things, shutting me out with excuses about work. When he finally said the word divorce, it felt like the ground had vanished beneath me. I thought I’d lost the man who’d once been my rock without ever knowing why.

Days later, I stumbled upon his old laptop and found messages to someone saved as “Love.” My heart sank as I read plans for a meeting at the café Flynn and I once called ours. Fueled by dread, I went there the next evening—and my breath caught when I saw him embrace his best friend, Benji, with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in months. In that moment, everything fell into place.

When Flynn confessed days later, his eyes heavy with regret, he admitted he hadn’t meant to hurt me. He’d been living a lie, afraid to face himself, let alone me. I wept for what we’d lost but realized it was never truly about me. Flynn wasn’t leaving out of rejection—he was finally stepping into who he really was.

As we said goodbye, I felt an unexpected peace. Our marriage had ended, but the love we once shared had given us both strength to move forward. Flynn had found his truth, and I had found mine: that I could let go and still be whole.