Golden light filtered through the curtains as I stared at our wedding photo—Flynn’s arm around me, smiling. We had built a life together: Sunday walks, late-night laughter, quiet love. But one night, he said, “I want a divorce,” and walked past me.
The cracks had been there—distant touches, sharp words, cold silences. I tried to fix us. He was already gone.
After he left, I found messages. Not to a woman, but to Benji—his best friend. Love, laughter, secrets.
Flynn hadn’t left because I failed. He left because he couldn’t hide anymore.
When we said goodbye, there were tears, but also peace.
Now, healing blooms. I’m not broken. I’m free.
And I will be okay.
