Over the following weeks, I followed the lawyer’s advice, compiling a dossier of documents that mapped the shifts in our financial landscape. It was a painstaking process, each page a reminder of the trust that had been quietly eroded.
In quiet moments, I would recall our early days together, the promises we had made, the life we had built. The realization that those foundations were now in question was a constant ache, one that I carried with me through every meeting, every phone call, every sleepless night.
One evening, as I sat alone in the living room, surrounded by the evidence of what had transpired, my phone buzzed with a new message. It was from my spouse, an apology, their words laced with regret. “I never meant to hurt you,” they wrote. “Let’s talk.”
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