After 38 years of marriage, my husband, Greg, sat across from me one evening and dropped the bombshell: he wanted a divorce. At first, I thought I’d misunderstood. The words felt foreign, almost like they didn’t belong in our life. We’d built a home, a family, memories. And yet, here he was, telling me he wanted out. “Are you serious?” I asked, my voice shaking with disbelief. He gave me that familiar, tired smirk that used to be so endearing. “Come on, Ellen, you must’ve known this was coming. We’ve been drifting apart for years. We both know it. I’m not going to waste any more time pretending. I want a chance at living, at freedom. Maybe even find someone… someone beautiful, unlike you—someone who’s not just… there. So yes, I’m divorcing you.”
