Then came the twist.

“I found your journal,” he said, pulling out a small, leather-bound book. “I read about your feelings for Mark.”

My heart stopped. I had forgotten about the journal, a place where I had poured out my confusion and guilt about my feelings for Mark. I had never acted on them, but my husband didn’t believe that.

As I left the house, I felt a strange mix of sadness and relief. Our marriage had ended not because of a picture, but because of a lack of trust and communication. The real plot twist was realizing that sometimes, the end of something is the beginning of understanding oneself.

Continue reading the story in the next page…