Alan just looked at the letter and didn’t answer.
I pointed to the folders in the box.
“The rest,” I said, “are copies of the signed agreements for our separation.
The ones my lawyer sent your lawyer that you never bothered to read because you assumed I’d wait around forever.”
“You asked me to leave quietly and not make a scene,” I said. “So here’s your public debut with your mistress, your job walking out the door, and the beginning of the end of our marriage in one place. Congratulations.
You got your big moment.”
No one laughed.
Someone actually clapped once, then stopped, embarrassed.
Ryan just stared at me, face twisted.
“You’re ruining my life,” he said under his breath.
“No,” I said. “You did that all by yourself. I just refused to keep decorating around the wreckage.”
I picked up my purse.
I turned to the guests.
“I’m sorry for the circus,” I said.
“There’s plenty of food. Please enjoy it. The DJ is paid up for the night.
I’m going home to my kids.”
I looked at Emily.
“Good luck,” I said. “He’s a lot less charming when he’s not standing on top of everything you built for him.”
Then I walked out.
No tears. No screaming.
Just done.
Later, at home, I checked on the kids, took off my shoes, sat on the edge of my bed, and finally let myself cry.
Not because I missed him.
Because I was grieving the version of my life I thought I had.
People love to ask if I regret it.
Dropping the hammer like that. Making it public.
Here’s the truth:
He humiliated me in front of everyone we knew, at a party I spent weeks building for him.
All I did was hand him a mirror.
And a box.
If this happened to you, what would you do? We’d love to hear your thoughts in the Facebook comments.
