You stop protecting the people who destroyed you.
You pick up what is left of your life.
And you leave the architects of your pain behind in the rubble.
I am awake now.
And that is the only ending that matters.
My husband was in the shower when his phone rang. “You still smell like me. Your wife has no clue,” his mistress laughed. My blood turned to pure ice. I recognized the voice instantly—it wasn’t a stranger. I didn’t scream or drop the device. I quietly unlocked his phone and sent one message. When the shower stopped and he stepped out singing, he saw me sitting on the bed holding his phone. His face completely drained of color.
