For months, he’d been off—distant, distracted. I chalked it up to a mid-life crisis. Meanwhile, I felt like I didn’t exist. Then I found a note in his pocket, addressed to me: “I’m forced to resign my role as your loving husband.” My blood boiled. I wanted to hurl a car, demolish a building—anything to match the chaos inside me. But instead, I just stood there, feeling like an empty shell of the person I used to be.
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