For seven years, I believed my marriage was strong. Then, last Saturday shattered that illusion.
At a pawn shop to pick up my grandfather’s watch, I spotted Jess at the jewelry counter.
“Jess?”
She spun around, pale, then scowled. “Why are you spying on me, Mark?”
“I’m here for my watch. Why are you selling your ring?”
She scoffed. “We have bills, and this is all I have of value.” She shoved the ring at the employee, grabbed the cash, and stormed out.
That night, she barely spoke. “A real man wouldn’t let things get this bad,” she muttered.
Something felt off. The next morning, I checked her phone.
Jess: Guess who just sold her ring?
Nina: Did Mark buy it?
Jess: Of course. That man is so gullible. Tonight’s the night—Bali, here I come.
When I confronted her, she called me a monster. I laughed coldly. “I’m done, Jess.”
Three days later, she was gone. My mother brought tea and cake.
“Start wherever it hurts most,” she said.
Jess was my past. And I wasn’t looking back.
