In the solitude of my home, surrounded by the quiet hum of appliances and the ticking of a clock that seemed to echo too loudly, I sat and wrote him an email. It was not laced with anger or regret, but instead with the truth of things left unsaid. I spoke of the quiet mornings, the sacrifices made without grievance, the dreams set aside to nurture his own. I hit send, and with that, I let go of the woman who had always stayed silent.

This morning, I stood still, waiting for the shift. I imagined him reading the email, the realization dawning that the words he spoke in jest held more truth than he had ever considered. It was not out of revenge but out of necessity that I laid bare the burden I had carried alone for too long.