I forced a smile, trying to deflect the tension, and excused myself from the table. In the guest bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were wet with unshed tears, but behind them, a fire had been lit. I knew I needed to do something. This wasn’t just about a stray piece of meat or an ill-chosen comment. It was about respect and self-worth. It was time for a change.

That night, I made a decision. I wouldn’t confront him publicly or retaliate with insults; that wasn’t my style. Instead, I planned something more profound, a form of revenge that would empower me and reshape my future.

The following weeks were a blur of silent preparation. I contacted a lawyer and quietly began the process of filing for divorce. Each document I signed felt like a small victory, a step toward reclaiming my dignity. I also joined a fitness class, not to change myself to fit his cruel standards, but to feel better, to be healthier for myself.