Watching Mark dote on her, a cold resolve settled within me. It was a moment for action, not tears.
Summoning a waiter, I made a discreet request.
“The finest champagne for that table,” I instructed, discreetly pointing toward Mark.
Sensing the drama, the waiter complied with a knowing smile.
As the champagne arrived, their forced smiles and confusion were a small victory. Above the din, I caught Mark’s laugh.
Snapping a photo of their feigned celebration, I shared it online, tagging Mark. Moments later, his panicked reaction unfolded as he scanned the room, desperately searching for me.
Ignoring his calls, I watched in detachment as my phone rang unanswered.
Summoning the waiter once more, I requested paper and another bottle of champagne.
“To a memorable double date and our divorce, cheers!” I penned, signing off with resolve.
Leaving the restaurant, hurt and betrayed, my momentary bravery waned.
That evening, Mark returned home, packed his belongings, and claimed he was staying with Tom. He apologized, citing a need to blow off steam from work stress.
A week has passed, and we’ve not spoken. It’s time for me to file for divorce.
If you were in my shoes, what would you do?