“All of them, ma’am? Tuition, rent, living expenses, credit cards?”
“All of them. Block everything. Effective immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I ended the call and looked down at the divorce decree in my hand. The air smelled like hot pavement and exhaust, but inside me there was no warmth left. No shaking. No sudden grief for the man I once believed would be my forever. Only a cold, clean clarity—like taking my first real breath after years of being slowly drained.
My name is Claire Whitmore. For five years, I was married to a man who mistook my silence for weakness.
Ethan stood a few feet away, adjusting his cuffs as if we had just finished a business meeting instead of ending a marriage. His suit was perfect, his shoes polished, and his smile carried the smug satisfaction of a man who believed I had finally accepted defeat.