At the final divorce hearing, the judge asked the usual questions.
“You’ve only been married for three years. Are you certain the marriage is beyond repair?”
I pressed my lips together, slipped off my wedding ring, and placed it on the table.
“We’ve been married for three years, Your Honor, and we’ve spent all three of them living apart. What feelings could possibly be left between us?”
During the two years Ethan Carter and I dated, my chat was pinned at the top of his WhatsApp, I was listed as his emergency contact, and I was even the beneficiary of his life insurance policy.
I’d truly believed I’d chosen the right man.
Then, on our wedding day, he answered a call and went deathly pale.
When I asked what was wrong, he told me his mother was sick. He left everything behind, booked the first flight back to his hometown, and disappeared from my life that same day.
For the next three years, he sent me photos of all three of his daily meals, yet his sick mother never appeared in a single picture.
I felt so sorry for him that I offered to quit my job and move there to help care for his mother.
He’d gently refused. “I couldn’t bear to let you give up your career for this.”
