Ten years earlier, I'd gotten married in a simple white dress. That day, I was walking toward my divorce with a calm and certainty no one expected.
Brandon was wearing an expensive gray suit, and the watch on his wrist was one of the luxury Swiss models he'd ever dreamed of owning. However, his face reflected uncertainty as he looked at me as if I were a stranger. For the first time in ten years, she was no longer the exhausted woman with disheveled hair and silent eyes he remembered.
The judge cleared his throat and spoke firmly: “We will proceed with the signing of the divorce papers.”
My lawyer placed the documents in front of me, and I took them carefully, for although the pages seemed simple, they represented ten years of shared life, ten years of sacrifice, and ten years of a once-genuine love. I slowly signed my name at the bottom of the last page.
As I put down the pen, I felt an unexpected sensation of lightness, as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from my shoulders.
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