Part One

My wife wanted an open marriage, cheated with a CEO, then begged me back when he ghosted her, but I was already dating her best friend. What’s up, Reddit? I never expected to post something like this, but I’ve been hanging on to this story for a long time, and it deserves to be told. So, here goes nothing. I am a 35-year-old male who has spent the majority of his life working in construction. I began my career as a worker after graduating from high school and gradually advanced. I do not sit in air conditioned offices. I do not have a trendy job title with slashes in it. I work with my hands. I create structures that stand on their own. You’d be astonished at how many people hold that in high regard until they start seeking something brighter.

Anyway, I was married for 3 years. Jennifer is 30 years old and female. She works in public relations, marketing, or whatever, and she spends more time in meetings discussing vibes than doing anything meaningful. I used to joke that I get paid to sweat while she gets paid to write emails with emojis. For a while, everything was fine. We had a little rhythm going. Shared dinners, weekend errands, the usual couple routine. Nothing extraordinary, but consistent. We were not fighting and we were not estranged. That’s why her words when she returned from her girls trip were unusual.

So, she takes a weekend trip to Dallas with her friends. Nothing dramatic, just shopping, spa treatments, and pricey drinks. The usual. Her best friend, Evelyn, a 31-year-old female, was also there. Evelyn is cool, by the way. I was always full of enthusiasm, down to earth, kind of the cool one in a friend circle consisting of women that behave like they’re on a reality show. Jennifer returns from her journey with a new perspective, like very different, not just exhausted or hung over from travel. She’s in her head, chilly and distant, fading out in the middle of a conversation. She’d be on her phone all the while, beaming as if the messages were standup material. I felt she just wanted a minute to relax, so I didn’t press. However, on Tuesday night, she dropped it.

Now that I think about it, it began a few months before the trip when Jennifer began spending more time with her friend Brittany than usual. They never hung out so much. Britney has always been well loud. He emphasizes the importance of keeping your options open and that partnership should not be cages, which is remarkable coming from someone whose longest relationship was with her hairdresser. Jennifer was now doing weekly dinners with her and she didn’t get home until far too late for someone who was meant to be having profound conversations. Every time she returned from being with Britney, her mood was wrong. She’d be unduly cheerful or snappy for no apparent reason, as if she was trying to convince herself of something.

At the time, I assumed she was just going through a phase or wanted space. Britney was out here giving TED talks on how to ruin your own marriage while calling it self-care.

We are in the kitchen. I’m making eggs. She’s just standing there watching me as if I’m about to damage her favorite mug. And then she says casually as if she is talking about switching laundry detergent. I think we should try an open relationship.

I assume she was joking. I laughed and kept scrambling. She did not laugh. I turn around. She’s completely serious, calm, as if she had practiced it.

I ask, “Wait, what?”

She repeats it in the same tone, as if it were no great thing. I just think it could be good for us. It’s not a big deal. A lot of couples do that. Okay, fair enough. Yes. Right. Many couples do this as if it were the new meal prep or matching pajamas. Like it’s a lovely little trend she discovered on Pinterest. Somewhere between DIY smoothie bowls and 100 ways to make your marriage fascinating again. I am just staring at her trying to figure out which version of my wife I’m speaking to right now. Because the Jennifer I married used to say things like, “If you cheat, I’ll leave you without blinking.” Now the Jennifer in front of me says, “Hey, what if we just schedule that cheating instead?”

So, I lean back against the counter and ask, “Where’s this coming from?”

She gives me one of those. This is just how I feel right now. Shrugs. I’ve been reading a lot about it. Britney’s in one. She says it’s changed her life.

Ah, there it is. Brittney, of course. That same Britney who believes that every terrible decision is liberating and previously said that monogamy was a systemic tool. The same Britney whose notion of emotional growth is to join a new dating app every month and label it self-exloration.

I do not even respond. I simply return to the pan and flip the eggs. Meanwhile, she is still going. It’s about growing as individuals, about learning more about ourselves and still choosing each other, but without all the restrictions, you know. Oh, yes, totally. What better way to enhance a relationship than to allow others to crawl inside it and make themselves comfortable?

She keeps chatting as if she’s read too many Instagram captions and believes she’s discovered the love code. I stay quiet, just let her speak because I’m no longer startled. I’m really disappointed. Not by her notion since people try everything in relationships. I’m disappointed that she didn’t contact me sooner. She didn’t even ask. She basically decided this was the next step and dropped it on me, expecting me to applaud and say, “Wow, how brave.”

Instead, I offered her a plate of eggs without saying anything.

And just like that, she went from being my wife to a woman I didn’t recognize. I did not yell, did not flip. I just stood there trying to grasp the fact that this woman with whom I had built a life and a home was now talking about bringing in other people as if it were a fun weekend project.

But here’s the deal. This was not something she was simply intrigued about. This was something she had been thinking about for a long time. Maybe she already has someone lined up. Britney had just poured gasoline on the already burning fire in her head. That’s what my instincts were suggesting.

So the next day, rather than saying no, I said, “Okay.”
I said, “Sure, let’s try it.”

Her eyes brightened. You’d think I had just offered her front row seats to watch Beyonce. She asks, “Really? You’re open to it?” I respond, “If it makes you happy” and let me tell you, that night she was virtually jumping around the house, behaving all effervescent as if she had just been unggrounded by her parents.

I maintained my composure, but my mind was already flipping switches. I’ve always felt that if you give individuals enough time to talk, they will tell on themselves. And Jennifer, she was preparing to sing.

The next morning, she’s texting non-stop and leaving the house more frequently. New clothing, perfume that smells more expensive than my power tools. She says she had coffee with a pal every night. The same excuse. Out with the gals. She assumed I hadn’t noticed, but I’m not stupid.

The point is, I didn’t react. I didn’t ask questions or challenge her. I didn’t even act angry. I just kept coming to work, doing my thing, and pretending I couldn’t see through it. Honestly, it was simpler to remain silent when I had a strong suspicion she wasn’t only thinking about open partnerships. She was already well ahead of that period.

So, I did what any man with half a brain would do. I began watching, listening, and waiting. What I was really doing was allowing her to dig the hole herself. Jennifer did not desire an open relationship. Instead, she wanted a safety net while she checked out her update. And me? I was about to cut the rope.

But this is where everything really fell into place. My sister Nora contacted me. We’re close and always have been. She’s 2 years younger than me, and unlike most people, she does not sugarcoat anything. If my haircut is awful, she will tell me. If my car smells like workout socks, she’ll tell me so before she even gets in.

So, she texts me out of nowhere.
Can we talk? It’s about Jennifer.

I tell her, “Yeah, come by the house.” I expected her to say something ambiguous or offer me advice I’d already received. Nope. Nora entered like a sledgehammer.

She entered, sat down, and left.

Leo, I know you think you’re handling this whole open relationship thing like a champ, but I need you to know Jennifer is already cheating on you.

That caught my interest. I inquired how she knew.

She pulls out her phone and shows me a screenshot of a group conversation she had with a girl who used to hang out with Jennifer and her friends. Jennifer reportedly told her staff during her trip that she had met someone with potential. According to the texts, Jennifer had already been chatting to a wealthy man before the girl’s weekend. A CEO of a tech firm who drives a high-end automobile, travels for networking, and has three pairs of eyeglasses worth more than my truck.

I was correct. She was already thinking about someone.

One of the texts literally said, “If I play this right, I won’t have to worry about money again.” Jennifer was talking about some guy as if he were a lottery ticket.

I sat there for a second trying to take it in. Not because I didn’t believe it. I did. I’ve been feeling weird for weeks. But to have it confirmed like that, man, it wasn’t even fury at that point. It was simply freezing.

Norah replies. I wasn’t going to say anything at first, but watching you just let her walk all over you made me sick.

I appreciated it more than she realized. I told her not to tell anyone else. I wasn’t prepared to respond yet. Not publicly anyhow. Because when someone demonstrates their abilities, it is wise to allow them to continue. Allow them to get comfortable. Let them believe they are winning. Makes it a lot easier to set up the ending.

Now that I understood what I knew, everything made sense. The open relationship pitch was a tactic. Jennifer sought permission to sleep with Mr. Executive, but not appearing to be the bad guy. She wants freedom without consequences. And me? I was just meant to play along, maybe see a female or two, let Jennifer have her fun with Rich Boy, and then either gently fade out or wait for her to make a decision.

Yeah.

Part Two

Part Two

This is where things took a turn. I began paying attention to Evelyn. Now, let me clear something. Nothing happened to Evelyn during this entire time. Not even a tiny amount. Evelyn isn’t the type of woman to fling herself at anyone. She’s intelligent and well-dressed, and she was aware that things were chaotic, so she maintained a respectful attitude. But following the open relationship revelation, I began to reflect on all of those instances again. The way she stared at me while I was repairing our porch railing last year. She stayed behind to assist me clean up after Jennifer’s birthday meal. She didn’t flinch or gossip when things between me and Jennifer became tense.

Then she texted me. Just a simple, “Hey, how are you holding up?”

I had no idea how to respond. I had just said, “Still breathing.” She responds, “You don’t deserve to be treated like this. I’ve seen what’s going on. You deserve way better.”

That one landed differently. It was the first time someone had stated it. Everyone else simply danced around it. But Evelyn called it as it was.

After that, I started to think differently. I wasn’t just the person attempting to remain cool anymore. I was the man who was plotting something. Not for the purpose of vengeance, but because I refused to let someone steal and destroy all I constructed while they shopped for upgrades.

And yes, I did something next.
The point is, I didn’t have to pull off anything dodgy. All I had to do was start out very casually, bringing Evelyn into the picture more.

It started little. She stopped by to retrieve a jacket she had left at our place. I asked if she’d want to stay for coffee. She answered, “Sure.” We talked for about 20 minutes about work life, and how she was tired of the continual turmoil Jennifer was dragging her into.

She claims Jennifer craves turmoil and then becomes enraged when things get dirty.

I said, “Yeah, welcome to my world.”

After that, I didn’t have to try too hard. Evelyn has recently begun to appear more frequently. Sometimes to drop off items, sometimes to chat while I was outside working on the vehicle. She would hand me tools, hold a flashlight, and inquire about the components. Most women would be completely bored watching a man tinker with rusty bolts. Evelyn truly listened.

Meanwhile, Jennifer began to notice.

That night, as I was about to fall asleep, Jennifer casually said, “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Evelyn lately.”

I didn’t even pause to tie my boots for work the next morning. I simply glanced at her and asked, “Why does that bother you?”

She shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned.

“No, I’m just saying.”

I cracked a grin.
“Good, cuz I wasn’t asking.”

The next day, she began asking questions like a detective who does not have a warrant, but really wants one.

“Was Evelyn here again today?”
“Did Evelyn mention anything about me?”
“Why is Evelyn texting you so much?”

I initially played dumb. She just stated that she had stopped by or wanted to borrow the drill, which was correct. Evelyn borrowed my drill once. Who knows if she truly used it or was simply trying to rattle Jennifer. In any case, the purpose has been completed.

This is where things became pretty evident.

Jennifer stopped seeing the CEO guy. She stated he became too intense and she wanted space. She attempted to reattach herself to me. She started preparing more dinners, started calling me “babe” again as if it would erase everything.

I returned home from a supply run one night to find her having a romantic meal.

I go in and ask, “Is it someone’s birthday?”

She smiles and replies, “No, I just thought it’d be nice for us to spend some time together. Just like old times, right?”

Old times. Before she tried to sell off our marriage for a fellow who presumably wears a fragrance named Liquidity.

I sat down, ate quietly, and then added,
“Evelyn mentioned you make a good mushroom risado.”

She froze. Her whole face twitched as if her circuits had overloaded.

“You talked to Evelyn about this?”

“Yes. She mentioned that she used to help you with this recipe.”

Jennifer strained a smile so hard that I thought her cheeks might snap.

After that supper, things only got worse. She began hovering, following me around the house, asking what I was doing, who I was texting, and if Evelyn had said anything new.

I said, “You should stop creeping around the kitchen like you’re auditioning for a thriller.”

It didn’t go down well.

But here’s what truly worked.

One weekend, I invited Evelyn over to help with the back fence. Jennifer was at home pretending to read a book she had not touched since we got it as a bookshelf prop. Evelyn and I were out back working and joking. She made light of the fact that I measured twice and still make mistakes with my cutting. I responded with something about her small hands being useless for power tools.

It was the most natural I had felt in months.

I look up and Jennifer is standing at the window motionless, peering through the glass like a horror movie extra. I waved. She ducked.

Later that night, she attempted an emotional guilt trip.

“I just feel like you’re pushing me away.”

I responded, “You literally asked me to accept you dating someone else. That’s not pushing. That’s me giving you the runway.”

She snapped.
“But you never wanted to do it. You just said yes to trap me!”

I responded, “No, I said yes because I wanted to see how fast you’d crawl to someone else. It turned out to be faster than Prime.”

She stormed off.

The next day, Evelyn texted me.
“She called me this morning. Wanted to talk. She’s losing it.”

I answered, “Good. Let her. She asked for openness. She’s about to discover what locked doors feel like.”

Jennifer believed she was in control. She assumed I’d be too ignorant, passive, or loyal to do anything but wait around. She didn’t realize I was already laying the basis.

After that, things changed.

Evelyn and I were not just talking anymore. Something has changed between us. I could feel it, and I’m quite sure she could, too. It was not forced. It was not rushed. It simply made sense.

So, I invited Evelyn to supper, not out at my house. She brought over some homemade lasagna, full layers, absolutely crisp on top, and smelled like true comfort. And reportedly, Evelyn can cook like a magician, too.

We sat at the kitchen table, plates full, laughing about ridiculous things. There is nothing forced or phony, just two folks who had been through enough to deserve a calm evening. It felt insanely right.

Halfway through dinner, I glanced at her and said,
“I don’t want to play games anymore.”

She halted, set down her fork, and looked at me as if she’d been waiting for that line all night.

“Neither do I,” she replied.

There was this brief moment of silence, as if everything had slowed down.

And then she said,
“I should probably tell you something.”

I raised my eyebrow. She smiled, not smuggly, but as if she was finally done holding it in.

“I’ve always liked you, Leo. Even back when you and Jennifer first got together. I never said anything because, well, you were taken. And I don’t mess with taken. But I saw how you treated her, how steady you were, the way you built things, not just with your hands, but with your loyalty. And I guess I always wondered what it would be like if someone like you picked me.”

I said nothing at first, simply let it sit there. Not because I was surprised, but because it was refreshing to finally hear something honest.

I looked at her and said,
“Well, I’m picking you now. No more guessing.”

She nodded and locked eyes with mine.

“So, we’re doing this?” I inquired.

She smiled big without hesitancy.
“Yeah, we’re doing this.”

That was it. No games, strange conditions, or emotional gymnastics. Just real talk, real food, and a woman who treated me like the prize, not a stepping stone. For the first time in a long time, I truly believed it.

So the next day, still wearing dusty boots, I returned home from work to find Jennifer sitting on the couch, scanning her phone like she was looking for the next reality show to join.

Evelyn was arriving in roughly 15 minutes.

I decided, you know what?
Let’s not dance around this anymore.

So, I sit down casually like if I’m about to ask what’s for dinner.

“Jennifer,” I said, “just wanted to give you a heads up. Me and Evelyn are together now. We’re official.”

She stops midscroll.
“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“With Evelyn? My best friend?”

I nodded.
“Well, you gave up exclusivity, remember? I’m just doing what you encouraged—exploring.”

She stood up so quickly that the couch certainly required therapy.

“You’re disgusting. I cannot believe you would do this to me with her. What kind of man—”

I cut her off.
“Cool and direct: I’m the kind of man who gave his wife the chance to be honest. Who stood by her while she ran around with a CEO like our marriage was just her backup plan. You didn’t just leave the door open, Jennifer. You kicked it off the hinges.”

Part Three

She begins pacing and yelling, throwing in every slur she can think of. Evelyn is called a fake. I’m a traitor and we’re accused of conspiring behind her back. Then she calms down and says, “I’ve been thinking and I don’t want an open relationship anymore. I want to go back to how things were.”

As if that were some simple switch we could turn off. Like, oops, my mistake. Let’s go back to the bit where I tried to sleep my way into a financial upgrade.

I stared at her for a second, allowing the stillness to do the heavy lifting. Then I looked her full in the eye and replied, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking, too. And I want you to start packing.”

Have you ever seen someone blink so fast that they appear to be buffering? That was her—completely caught off guard as if the math did not match in her head.

“You’re not serious,” she replies.

“Oh, I’m serious. Expect your divorce papers.”

And she staggered back a step as if she had just realized the earth was not flat after all.

“You’re divorcing me?” she asks, sounding like the victim in a bad drama. As if I were the first one to step out. So I stated it clearly and sharply:

“No, Jennifer, I’m divorcing the version of you that forgot what commitment meant. The version that thought love was something you upgrade from when someone flashier comes along. The version that tossed loyalty in the trash the second it stopped being exciting for you.”

She opens her lips to argue, but I continue.

“You wanted options. You explored them. And now that the guy with the Tesla doesn’t call you anymore, suddenly you remember I exist. Nah, you don’t miss me, Jennifer. You miss the guy who stuck around when you didn’t deserve it.”

Still blinking. Still attempting to resurrect the fantasy she was living in.

“You said you wanted freedom, remember? Well, congratulations. You’re free now. Free from this marriage. Free from this house. Free from pretending like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

She said nothing for around 30 seconds. She just stood there, arms crossed, trying to figure out which angle she hadn’t attempted yet. Then, in the most wretched voice I’ve ever heard, she says, “Can’t we at least talk about this?”

So, I leaned forward, my voice soft yet plain as day.

“We did talk about it back when you asked to make our marriage a community project. And you decided back then that I didn’t matter. So now I’m just agreeing with you.”

And I walked by her calmly. No yelling, no hurling anything.

“There’s the real conversation, Jennifer. Go ahead and start packing before I get back. And don’t bother trying the sympathy angle. You left that behind with your dignity when you picked a CEO over your husband.”

She stood there shaking—angry, puzzled, and ashamed. All of it rolled into one. And then she stormed out, slamming the door.

When I returned, she was gone.

Then Evelyn arrived. I told her everything—how Jennifer reacted and what she said. Evelyn did not flinch. She just nodded and continued.

“She was never going to handle this well. She’s not used to losing.”

We sat on the back terrace and ate leftovers straight from the dish with forks. Classy? Perhaps not. Satisfying? Oh, yes.

Jennifer had made her decision. She had to accept it.

And me? I finally felt free.

---

The circus officially began the following day.

Twelve missed calls before 8:00 a.m.

Two voicemails that began with, “Can we talk?” and ended with, “You’re a snake.” Really productive.

Then followed the texting binge.

She struck me with:

“You’re throwing everything away.”
“You’re being cruel.”
“You’ll regret this.”

And my particular favorite:
“Evelyn was never your friend. She used you.”

I did not respond to any of them. Not because I lacked words. I had plenty. But I felt the best way to make her feel helpless was to let her scream into the emptiness.

Meanwhile, I met with my attorney.

Let me tell you something, future Reddit husbands:
If you do one thing before you marry, get a freaking prenup.

Not because you expect things to go wrong, but because if they do, and your wife decides to consider your marriage as a temporary contract, you’ll be sitting in a chair like I was, sipping coffee while your lawyer scans through the file and says:

“She doesn’t get a dime. Not one damn dime.”

He looked up at me, smirking.

“You kept the original signatures?”

I nodded.
“Hard copy and scanned. Safety deposit box.”

He chuckled and leaned back.

“You, my friend, are my new favorite client.”

The prenuptial agreement was plain and unambiguous. Unfortunately, there was no infidelity provision, but it protected everything I owned at the time—my money, the property I bought before we married, my truck, my equipment, and the business I fought so hard for.

He kept reading aloud, in order to twist the knife.

“All income from premarital business entities shall remain separate and immune to division in the event of divorce.”

He stared at me again.

“That includes the shop and those two rental properties.”

I nodded.

“Everything, even the lawnmowers,” he laughed. “Man came with receipts and weed whackers.”

Jennifer was only entitled to what was in her personal checking account and what she departed with. That is it. No spousal support. No half of anything. Including the dog.

She didn’t want the dog anyway. She called me too clingy, as if that is a terrible thing for a pet.

He slid the papers across the desk.

“All you have to do now is sign. We’ll courier this over to her.”

And this is exactly what I did.
I signed the divorce papers that day.

My lawyer sent them to her flat. Yes, she moved into a high-rise rental after leaving, as if she were beginning a new chapter.

She contacted me again once she was served.

“Are you serious?”

I replied back with one line:

“Dead serious. You opened the door. I’m just closing it behind you.”

She responded,
“I didn’t know what was in the prenup.”

I merely replied,
“Not my fault.”

I didn’t hear back after that.

But do you know who did hear from her?

Evelyn.

Jennifer couldn’t just accept the loss and go on. No, silence is not her strong suit. Jennifer apparently showed up at her apartment uninvited, as if she were organizing an intervention. According to Evelyn, she knocked as if she was trying to break in. No warning, no text, only wrath and high heels.

Evelyn opens the door calmly, as if she had expected a package rather than a tantrum.

Right on cue, Jennifer enters full drama class.

“You betrayed me! How could you do this to me?”

Evelyn did not flinch. She merely stood there with her hand on the door, as if she was considering whether to listen to her or simply walk away and let her yell at the wood.

Evelyn then says quietly and directly:

“You wrecked your own marriage. I just decided I wasn’t going to clean up the mess for you. You gave up the job—and now you’re mad someone else applied.”

Jennifer stood transfixed, perhaps waiting for Evelyn to apologize or soften up. Instead, Evelyn told me she looked her in the eyes and said:

“If this is what you came here for, you can leave the same way you came in. Alone.”

Before closing the door.

Part Four

While Jennifer was out here attempting to launch a one-woman pity parade, I was tightening things. I transferred all of our joint subscriptions into my name. I denied her access to everything remaining tied to my accounts. I changed each password as if she were a hacker with something to prove.

I cleaned the house—not only physically, but mentally. I took down old photos, donated the wedding decor she refused to take, and threw out her remaining skincare junk.

And just like that, she was gone. There is no alimony, assets, or power left to swing.

Evelyn once asked me whether I was feeling ill. I told her no.
“I feel as if I walked out of a burning building and discovered someone standing there with water.”

The divorce is now official. Jennifer is no longer my wife, legally or otherwise. To be honest, the moment I received the confirmation call from my lawyer, it felt like a ton of bricks were lifted off my shoulders. I stood in the center of my kitchen, still wearing work boots, and simply smiled.

I wasn’t angry. I was not sad. I was finished.

Life wasn’t ideal, but it was finally mine.

Honestly, I could have ended the narrative there, but of course, Jennifer wasn’t finished making things messy. She’s never finished.

It was my sister Norah’s birthday. Backyard BBQ. Simple things—close friends, family, and meals I produced myself rather than pricey caterers as Jennifer used to urge. Evelyn was assisting with the decorations. Nora brought her popular potato salad. My cousin Jason was already three burgers deep. Positive vibrations all around.

Then something happened.

Someone from inside cries,
“Uh, Leo, someone’s at the front gate.”

I hurry to look and there she is—Jennifer. She stands at the edge of the yard as if she is returning from exile. Hair done, heels on, and large sunglasses as if she’s avoiding photographers. She was holding a present bag. Yes, a friggin gift bag. Probably full of shame and confusion.

Everyone froze. Even the dog became quiet.

I walked over calmly. I wasn’t angry. I was amused.

“Jennifer,” I answered, “you’re not invited.”

She attempted to grin. “I just wanted to say hi, maybe talk.”

Not the time, not the place, not the guest list.

She removed her sunglasses and went into her classic script.

“I’ve been thinking a lot and I just want to give our marriage another chance. I made a mistake.”

I nodded.
“Yeah, we all saw that one coming.”

She continued going.
“I didn’t realize what I had until it was gone. And seeing you with Evelyn—”

“Is not your business anymore.”

People were watching. Norah crossed her arms from across the yard. Jennifer looked about, realizing she was no longer the main character.

“Can we at least talk in private?” she asked.

I shake my head.
“Nope. Whatever you came here to say, save it. You had months. You had chances. You picked someone else. And now you’re here because he dumped you and I didn’t.”

She became quiet. Really quiet.

Then she exclaimed,
“So, you’re just replacing me? Like, it’s that easy?”

I leaned forward and stated loudly enough for everyone to hear:

“You replaced yourself the second you gave me permission to stop being your priority.”

She attempted to save face.
“This isn’t over. You can’t erase everything we had.”

I laughed.
“Jennifer, you erased it. I just swept up the pieces and handed you the broom.”

She opened her mouth as if she were about to explode. But Evelyn walked over—calm and steady. Didn’t say anything. Just stood next to me.

That was sufficient.

Jennifer stared at her as if waiting for some dramatic showdown. Evelyn simply tilted her head and stated:

“You were his past. I am his present and future. So you can leave now.”

Jennifer stood there for a second, as if expecting someone—anyone—to defend her.

Nobody did.

She went without saying anything else. She walked immediately back through the gate from which she had entered. Gift bag still in hand.

A minute later, the music resumed. Nora offered me another hamburger as if nothing had occurred.

She passed by and said,
“Happy birthday to me.”

Evelyn and I sat down and she simply gazed at me saying,
“That felt good.”

I responded,
“Better than winning the lottery.”

So that’s the story.

Jennifer wanted options. She took them. Then she quickly discovered that love does not come with a backup generator. She assumed I was weak enough to wait around.

She was wrong.

I didn’t just get through it. I created something better with someone else.

If anyone reading this is thinking, “Maybe I should give them another chance.”

Don’t.

Allow them to be someone else’s disaster.

You’ve got greater things to look forward to after this.

Peace.
Real peace.

For the record, Evelyn makes far superior lasagna.

The End