The Divorce He Filed Himself

My husband Mark called, his voice a whip crack in my ear, furious that I was in Napa enjoying wine instead of fretting over his mistress, Jessie. For seven years, his world revolved around Jessie' s endless dramas, her "fragile" state always prioritized over my needs, my feelings, or even the memory of my late father. I quietly drafted dissolution papers, shifting the names from generic "Jane Doe" to "Sarah Miller vs. Mark Thompson," a silent vow of freedom. He dismissed my pain, gaslighted my reality, and funneled our marital assets into Jessie' s lavish lifestyle, casually buying her a $15,000 designer bag when I couldn't get a few hundred for a work suit. The ultimate betrayal came during a scuba trip off La Jolla: he shoved me, his wife, directly into a shark's path to save Jessie, then abandoned me, celebrating with her on the boat while I gasped for air, bleeding. How could anyone be so utterly blind, so consumed by another's manufactured crisis, that they would sacrifice their own spouse and then, beaming, personally file divorce papers thinking they were for their mistress? He proudly signed away his future, thinking he was liberating Jessie, not realizing he was cementing my escape and sealing his own downfall. The game was on, and watching his oblivious delight, I knew I would win.