When my husband, Stan, walked out because I refused to move across the country for his dream job, I believed our chapter had closed forever. We had been together since high school—young, hopeful, and convinced love alone could solve everything. But as the years passed, our priorities quietly drifted apart. Stan wanted motion, ambition, and a new horizon. I wanted stability.
My parents were aging, their health fragile, and I couldn’t imagine leaving them behind. When Stan received a lucrative job offer in Seattle, he didn’t frame it as a discussion. It was an ultimatum. Go with him—or stay and be left behind. I chose family. He chose himself. The separation was painful and rushed. During the divorce, Stan withdrew most of our shared savings and quickly moved on, posting photos online that suggested he was thriving. I was left to rebuild with very little.
