After His Mistress Confronted Me, I Divorced

On my fiftieth birthday, I came across my husband's phone and noticed his search history: "How to prolong intimate moments?" After more than twenty years of marriage, our relationship had been purely platonic since the birth of our child. Seeing page after page of these searches made my hand tremble uncontrollably. Reflecting on all those years spent tirelessly supporting my family seemed like a cruel joke. In the end, I understood that both my husband and son had others they cared for more deeply. So, I calmly requested a divorce, determined to start living for myself from that day forward.

When my husband, Wade, called, I was buying shrimp at the seafood market. I grew up by the coast and always loved seafood before I married. But Wade and my son, Imran, are allergic, so seafood vanished from our menu. Today, I suddenly didn’t feel like making compromises anymore. I decided to buy whatever I fancied. On the phone, Wade's voice was assertive, "Bring some papers to the law firm for me. And pick up a couple of boxes of those gingerbread cookies from the well-known bakery downtown—they're a hit with my colleagues. Make sure they're gluten-free."

Our house is in the northern part of town, which meant at least a two-hour round trip to the bakery. Wade’s law firm is mostly filled with men who aren't particularly fond of sweets. The name almost slipping from his lips was Claire, his first love. She's a partner at the firm, and those gingerbread cookies are her favorite. This time, I didn’t rush to agree as usual. Instead, I replied coolly, "I'm busy right now. You can ask Marcelo, your assistant, to handle it."

Wade seemed caught off guard by my straightforward refusal, pausing before replying with a hint of irritation, "You're at home all day with nothing to do. How are you busy? I'll send Marcelo to get the papers; you just need to buy the cookies. No extra trip needed."

As always, he disregarded my words, completely ignoring my feelings. I don't know why, but a wave of resentment surged inside me, and I couldn't help but shout into the phone, "I said I'm busy, Wade! Do you not understand? I won't deliver the documents, nor will I buy those cookies! Whoever wants them can get them!"

Wade seemed surprised by my sudden outburst and uncharacteristically softened his tone, "Are you having a bad day? Fine, if you don't want to buy them, I'll ask Marcelo. No need to make a fuss."

I didn’t respond, focusing on calming myself with deep breaths. Just as I was about to ask when he’d be home, I realized he had already hung up. Half an hour later, as I returned home with groceries, Marcelo arrived to pick up the documents. He dropped off a box of spiced honey cake, mentioning that Wade and Imran would be working late tonight. I nodded, long used to such news.

It wasn’t until I scrolled through Imran's Facebook updates that I saw him celebrating a courtroom victory for Claire's divorce case. In the photos, Claire, at fifty, looked remarkably well-preserved, not a wrinkle on her face. She linked arms with Wade, nestled comfortably between my husband and son, as if they were one perfect little family. Apparently, Wade and Imran had completely forgotten today was my birthday. Remembering their "working late" excuse, tears unexpectedly welled up. I suddenly felt how foolish all my efforts over the past two decades had been. I quickly wiped away the tears and continued enjoying my sumptuous seafood dinner. Memories of a life revolving around my husband and son flashed through my mind. But from now on, I would live for myself.