***
My name is Sarah.
I was thirty-three years old when my marriage ended, and for the following five years, my entire existence seemed to revolve around two responsibilities.
Raising my son.
And paying for the financial damage my husband left behind.
Nathan abandoned our family on an ordinary Tuesday morning.
There was no dramatic argument.
No warning.
No explanation.
He simply kissed our six-year-old son, Joel, on the forehead, picked up his keys, and announced that he’d be home for dinner.
Joel waved goodbye from the kitchen.
I watched Nathan drive away.
Neither of us knew that he had no intention of returning.
Three days later, my phone rang.
It was Nathan.
“Sarah, I’m filing for divorce.”
I stood frozen in the kitchen.
“What? Nathan, where are you?”
“Somewhere I can finally think.”
“What does that even mean?”
He sighed.
“I’ve been miserable for years.”
I could barely breathe.
