Then he stepped closer. “Emily… Claire and I aren’t doing well. And you—you look incredible.”

There it was.
The real reason for his sudden softness.
“My looks aren’t the point,” I said calmly. “You didn’t lose me because I gained weight. You lost me because you lost respect for me.”
He had no response.
I gestured toward the hallway. “Your things are boxed up. Please take them and go.”

While packing, he found our wedding photo. I’d placed a small yellow note on it:
“I hope you treat the next person better.”
That was the end of the conversation. He left without another word.

When the door shut behind him, the silence felt different—light, peaceful, complete. Not the empty quiet I’d known before, but the calm that follows a storm.
I sat by the window, aware of how steady my hands felt. My chest wasn’t tight with grief. Instead, I felt relief.
The apartment reflected the changes I’d made: fresh plants, brighter décor, open space. It finally felt like mine. Like me.