His Regret, My Freedom

The call came on a sunny Tuesday, a day promising peace, as I reviewed blueprints in my home office.

Then, my phone vibrated with his name: Ethan Carter, my husband.

"Chloe," he said, his voice cold and distant, "We need to get a divorce."

He wanted to give "her" legitimate status; he' d met someone.

I simply leaned back, my voice flat, "Okay. Then we should do that."

He hung up, without a proper goodbye, after arranging for his lawyer to draft the generous settlement papers.

My best friend, Maya, on the other hand, exploded, "That son of a bitch! After everything you' ve done for him!"