The number struck harder than any single message. Six months of deception carried out beneath the same roof, across the same dinner table, beside the same sleeping dog.
“I want a divorce,” Diana said.
Anthony’s eyes widened. “Diana, please, we can fix this.”
“There is nothing left to fix.”
In the weeks that followed, Diana moved through the logistical dismantling of her marriage with a composure that surprised even her closest friends. She hired an attorney, Janet Morris, divided finances, and began reconstructing her independence with clinical precision. Pain remained, but it no longer dictated her decisions. Diana refused to beg, refused to negotiate, refused to participate in Anthony’s sudden desperation.
The divorce finalized quickly, though Anthony’s collapse did not. Reports filtered through mutual acquaintances. Excessive drinking. Missed work. Emotional volatility. Diana listened politely, then redirected her attention to the one domain where control still felt attainable.
Work.
Diana’s career in real estate had always been solid, yet adversity ignited a sharper determination. She worked longer hours, pursued larger listings, and cultivated a reputation defined by reliability and strategic thinking. By autumn, commissions surged. By winter, savings exceeded anything she had accumulated during marriage. Financial stability became both shield and vindication.
One night, months after the divorce, Diana’s phone rang. Anthony’s name illuminated the screen.
She hesitated, then answered.
“Hello.”
“Diana.” His voice was thick, slurred, unmistakably drunk. “I need to talk to you.”
“You are not supposed to contact me.”
“I ruined everything,” Anthony whispered. “Erica meant nothing.”
Diana’s jaw tightened. “You should have thought about that earlier.”
“I love you.”
“If you loved me, you would not have betrayed me.”
The silence stretched painfully.
“It is never too late,” Anthony insisted.
“For us, it is.” Diana inhaled slowly. “Goodbye, Anthony.”
She blocked the number immediately. Her hands shook, anger and exhaustion colliding beneath the surface. Murphy stirred, lifting his head, and Diana stroked his fur until her breathing steadied.