My husband placed the divorce papers on the table with a smile and said, “Accept my mistress, or we’re separating.” I signed the documents without hesitation. My husband went pale: “No, wait… you misunderstood…”

When Daniel Whitmore placed the divorce papers on the table, he did so with a smile I didn’t recognize. It was the same table where we had breakfast for twelve years, where we planned vacations and celebrated promotions. In a calm voice, he said, “Accept her as my mistress, or we’re separating.”

He didn’t look up; he seemed certain that I was going to beg, to negotiate, to cry. I did none of those things.

My name is Laura Bennett, I’m thirty-nine years old, and I’ve built my life with discipline. For months, I suspected inf:i:delity: dropped calls, “business” trips on Fridays, an unfamiliar fragrance on his shirts. Even so, I never imagined he would offer me a divorce as an ultimatum to normalize his affair. I looked at it, read every line of the document, and without hesitating, I signed. My pen didn’t tremble.