I got home earlier than usual that evening, and the moment I stepped inside, Greg greeted me with an unusual smile. It wasn’t his typical grin—it was forced, almost too wide, like he was trying too hard to seem happy. Before I could even set my bag down, he made an offer that caught me off guard.
“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll give you a foot massage,” he said, his voice smooth but unnatural.
I frowned. Greg had never offered to massage my feet. In fact, he barely even liked handing me the TV remote when it was out of reach. Something about his sudden eagerness didn’t sit right with me.
“Are you serious?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Of course!” He gestured toward the couch. “You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered.”
Too tired to argue, I let him guide me to the couch. As he slipped off my shoes and started rubbing my feet, I tried to relax. But I couldn’t. Something felt… off. His touch was gentle, almost rehearsed. It was like he was trying too hard to distract me.
And then, I heard it. A faint click from down the hall.
I sat up immediately. “Did you hear that?”
Greg’s hand froze mid-massage. “Hear what?” he asked, his voice a little too quick, too high-pitched.
“It sounded like the bathroom door…”
He let out a nervous laugh. “It’s just the pipes. You know how this old house is.”
But I wasn’t convinced. My stomach twisted into knots. I knew that sound. It wasn’t pipes—it was the quiet click of a door being gently shut.
“Greg,” I said slowly, standing up. “What’s going on?”
His face twitched. “Nothing! Seriously, you’re just tired. Come back, sit down—”
Ignoring him, I walked toward the hallway. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I approached the bathroom door.
“Wait!” Greg called after me, his voice laced with panic. “Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. I turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The air hit me first—warm, humid, like someone had just stepped out of the shower. The mirror was still fogged. But the real giveaway was the item sitting on the bathroom counter.
A tube of crimson lipstick.
My fingers trembled as I picked it up. This wasn’t mine. I never wore this color.
I turned, holding it up as Greg hesitantly stepped closer. “Whose is this?”
His face paled. “Uh… it’s yours?”
“Don’t insult me, Greg,” I snapped. “You know I don’t wear this shade.”
Before he could stammer out another lie, another sound came from down the hall. A sneeze.
My breath caught in my throat.
Greg visibly tensed. “It’s nothing. Really. I swear—”
I didn’t wait to hear the rest. My legs carried me forward, my heart hammering as I strode toward the bedroom. Greg scrambled after me.
“Wait, don’t!” he yelped, but I ignored him.
I yanked the closet door open.
And there she was.
A woman crouched inside, clutching a pair of high heels to her chest like a child caught sneaking candy. Her hair was messy, her cheeks flushed. And the worst part? She was wearing my silk robe.
My robe.
I stared at her, my mind reeling, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
The woman slowly stood, her hands gripping the robe like she wished it could make her invisible. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she muttered.
Greg stepped in beside me, his hands raised as if trying to calm a wild animal. “Honey, please, let me explain.”
I turned on him, the fury bubbling up like lava inside me. “Explain? Explain what, Greg? That there’s a woman hiding in our bedroom? That she’s wearing my robe?”
The woman fidgeted awkwardly, avoiding my gaze. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be home yet,” she muttered under her breath, glancing at Greg.
Something in me snapped.
“Get out,” I said, my voice deathly quiet.
Greg paled. “Wait, babe—”
“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,’” I hissed, my voice shaking. “Both of you. Out. Now.”
The woman looked at Greg, then back at me, her face burning red. She grabbed her heels and scurried out of the bedroom like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.
Greg hesitated, his hands still raised. “Can we just talk about this?”
I pointed to the door. “Get out, Greg.”
“Please, I messed up—”
“You think?!” I barked. “You bring her into my home? Into my bed? And you expect me to talk?” I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Take your things and leave. We’re done.”
Greg’s shoulders slumped, realization settling in. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he sighed and walked toward the door.
I didn’t watch him go. I couldn’t. I just stood there, breathing heavily, as the front door clicked shut behind him.
I wasn’t going to cry. I refused to cry. Instead, I grabbed a box from the garage and started packing up his things. Every shirt, every pair of shoes, every stupid little memento. All of it. Out of my house. Out of my life.
When I was done, I called my brother.
“Can you come over?” I asked, my voice steady but tired.
“Of course,” he said immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Greg’s gone,” I said simply.
He was at my house within half an hour. He didn’t ask many questions—just hugged me and helped me haul Greg’s belongings to the front door.
By the time Greg returned the next night, I was ready.
He stepped inside, looking sheepish, hopeful. “Can we talk?”
I gestured to the neatly packed boxes waiting for him. “No, Greg. We’re done.”
“Please, just hear me out—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I said firmly. “Take your things and go.”
He stood there, searching my face, maybe hoping for some sign that I might change my mind. But I wouldn’t. Not this time.
Finally, he sighed, grabbed his things, and walked out of my life for good.
The next day, I filed for divorce.
It wasn’t easy. Some days, I felt angry. Other days, I felt nothing at all. But as time passed, I started reclaiming my life. I redecorated the house. Spent time with friends and family. I laughed more. I rediscovered myself.
And one evening, as I sat in my newly redecorated living room, something strange happened.
I felt happy.
Greg had broken my heart, but in a way, he had also set me free. I had spent so long trying to make our marriage work that I had forgotten my own worth.
But now? Now I was finally putting myself first.
And I would never let anyone make me forget that again.