My divorce request blindsided my husband after thirty years of marriage. He believed he was a good spouse, but I knew otherwise.
Zack stood shocked when I announced it on our thirtieth anniversary, after our youngest child left home. He cried, asking why.
“You did nothing,” I told him. “No support during illness, grief, or when our kids left. No romance, no effort.”
“I didn’t know,” he protested.
“I asked for help, for therapy,” I replied. “Now it’s too late.”
Moving out swiftly, I started anew in Venice Beach, finding joy in dancing and new friendships. A year later, I met Sam, who cherishes me.
Zack’s found someone new, but I’ve found real love.
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