From the outside, my marriage to Tom looked perfect: a nice house, good jobs, two cars, and our dog, Max. But behind closed doors, things were crumbling. Arguments over little things had become the norm, and that morning was no different.
He left for “work” after snapping at me over breakfast, and I decided to spend the day at the pool with my best friend, May.
The sun was bright, the pool crowded, and for the first time in weeks, I felt relaxed until I spotted him. There was Tom, lounging with a young blonde, her hand resting comfortably on his.
My stomach ropped. Before I could even confront him, a stocky young man stormed over and grabbed Tom by the collar.
“What the hell are you doing with my girlfriend?” he shouted.
The blonde shrieked, and Tom’s face went pale. Desperate, Tom stammered, “Please, let’s not make a scene. I’ll pay you!” The young man shoved him back in disgust.
I pulled out my phone and started filming, my hands shaking with a mix of rage and grim satisfaction.
When it was over, I walked up to Tom. He tried, “Lisa, it’s not what it looks like.” I held up my phone.
“I’ve got it all on video. We’re done.”
At home, Tom switched from begging to blaming me.
“You pushed me to this!” he yelled, claiming I had become distant.
That was the final straw. With a few taps, I sent the video to his boss the blonde’s father. By the next day, Tom was fired and humiliated.
I filed for divorce without looking back.
For years, I had carried the weight of our failing marriage. Now, I finally felt free.
Losing Tom wasn’t the end of my life it was the start of living it on my own terms.