Then he left. I stood alone in our bedroom, hearing the front door close, hearing his footsteps fade down the hallway. The candles in the dining room had burned out.
The anniversary dinner sat untouched, and eight years of my life had just walked out the door, taking my heart with it.
The days after Brandon left blurred together like watercolors in the rain. I went to work, came home, stared at the walls. I didn’t cry at first.
I think I was too shocked, too empty. It felt like someone had reached inside my chest and scooped out everything that made me human, leaving just a hollow shell that knew how to scan groceries and pour coffee.
Brandon’s lawyer sent papers two weeks later. I sat on the couch—our couch that I’d helped pay for—and read through the terms. I got nothing.
A tiny settlement of $15,000 «out of generosity.» No claim to the apartment, no claim to his retirement accounts or investments, no claim to anything we’d built together because, according to the legal words on the page, I hadn’t built anything. I’d just been there.
The lawyer’s letter used phrases like «no substantial financial contribution,» «lack of professional development during marriage,» and «equitable distribution based on individual assets.» Every phrase was a knife.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror that night. I was 28 years old, but looked older. My hands were permanently rough, the skin dry and cracked no matter how much lotion I used.
My shoulders curved forward from exhaustion. My eyes had lost their light. I’d given the best years of my life to a man who’d thrown me away like garbage.
For the first time since Brandon left, I broke down completely. I slid to the bathroom floor and sobbed. Deep, ugly, painful sobs that came from somewhere dark inside me.
I cried for the girl who’d believed in love. I cried for the sacrifices that meant nothing. I cried for six years of my life I’d never get back.
That’s where Maggie found me three hours later. She’d used her emergency key when I didn’t answer her calls. She took one look at me on that bathroom floor and sat down beside me, pulling me into her arms.
«He’s destroying you,» she said quietly. «We can’t let him win, Grace.»
«There’s nothing to win, Maggie. Look at me. No degree. No career. No savings. He’s right. I have nothing.»