That there’s a strange woman hiding in our bedroom? Wearing my robe?” I gestured to the woman, who was now fidgeting awkwardly.
“Listen, I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” the woman said weakly.
“Find out what?” I snapped, my voice shaking. “That my husband is a lying cheat?
That he brings his little girlfriend here when I’m at work? Don’t try to defend him!”
“Babe, please, don’t do this,” Greg begged, stepping closer to me.
“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,’” I hissed, stepping back. “You think you can sweet-talk your way out of this?
Pack your things and go. Now. Both of you.”
The woman looked at Greg, wide-eyed.
“I thought you said she wouldn’t be home.”
My stomach churned at her words, but I refused to let the tears fall. I turned back to Greg. “Get her out of my house.
And don’t bother coming back.”
Greg held his hands up in surrender. “Just give me a chance to explain—”
“Leave!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.
The woman grabbed her shoes and scurried out of the room. Greg hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening as if to argue.
But when he saw the look on my face, he seemed to think better of it.
He left without another word, following her out the front door.
I stood in the middle of the bedroom, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. For a moment, I felt numb. But then something shifted.
This was my house.
My life. And I wasn’t going to let Greg taint it any longer.
I grabbed a box from the garage and started packing his things. His clothes, his toiletries, even the stupid coffee mug he loved went into the box.
I worked quickly, methodically, not letting myself dwell on the memories tied to each item.
As I was finishing up, I called my brother. “Can you come over?” I asked, my voice steady but tired.
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “What’s going on?”
“Greg’s gone,” I said simply.
My brother arrived half an hour later, his presence a welcome relief.
He didn’t ask many questions, just hugged me and helped me carry Greg’s belongings to the front door.
By the time Greg returned the next night, I was ready.
He walked in, looking sheepish and hopeful. “Can we talk?” he asked softly.
I pointed to the pile of his belongings by the door. “No, Greg.
We’re done.”
“Please, just hear me out—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I said firmly. “Take your things and go.”
He stood there for a moment, as if he thought I might change my mind. When I didn’t, he sighed, grabbed his things, and walked out the door for the last time.
The next day, I filed for divorce.
It felt strange, almost surreal, but also like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
Over the next few months, I started to reclaim my life. I redecorated the house, filling it with things that made me happy. I spent time with friends and family, people who reminded me of who I was before Greg came along.
It wasn’t easy.
There were moments when I felt angry, hurt, and lonely. But each day, I felt a little lighter. A little freer.
One evening, as I sat in my newly redecorated living room, I looked around and realized something: I was happy.
Truly happy.
Greg’s betrayal had been painful, but it had also been a wake-up call. I had spent so much time trying to make our marriage work that I’d forgotten my own worth. Now, I was finally putting myself first.
As I closed the chapter on my marriage, I felt hopeful for the future.
Whatever came next, I knew I was strong enough to face it.
