At parties, he’d call me “a friend of a friend.” He even once pretended to forget my name. THE FINAL STRAW? At a bar, he told the waitress I was his sister.
She laughed. He winked. I was humiliated.
When I called him out, he said, “Only insecure women get jealous. I married you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
That was the moment I decided: I won’t cry anymore.
I was going to teach him a lesson. I didn’t file for divorce immediately. No.
I wanted him to feel what I had felt – small, invisible, unimportant. So I waited a few weeks. I played the “cool wife.” And then, our anniversary came up.
I told him not to make any plans for Saturday night as I had a “special surprise” planned. He beamed. Until I took him to the rooftop restaurant where we’d had our first date and reached into my purse.
He became white as a ghost when he saw what I pulled out. “If you’re joking, honey…”
But I just smiled. If the signed and notarized divorce papers I’d just presented to him weren’t clear, the note I’d paper-clipped to the front should’ve been.
“You said only insecure women get jealous,” I’d written. “So this must be what a confident woman looks like.”
For the first time in months, he was speechless. I stood up calmly, leaned down, and kissed his cheek one last time.
“Next time you’re at the bar, you can tell the waitress that your sister finally grew a spine.”
