It instantly transported me back to a childhood trauma—the house fire that destroyed my home and took the life of my beloved dog.
That fear was real. And Daniel knew it.
That night, I locked myself in our bedroom, overwhelmed by sh0ck, fear, and betrayal.
I didn’t sleep.
I cried on the phone to my dad, and by morning, I made the hardest decision of my life: I called my lawyer and filed for divorce.
This wasn’t some innocent prank. Daniel deliberately weaponized something he knew had deeply hurt me.
And he did it while I was carrying our child.
His apology the next day felt empty. The damage was already done. When trust is shattered like that, no words can truly fix it.
My dad stood by me without question, but my mother thought I was overreacting and urged me to forgive.
Still, I held my ground. Staying would’ve sent the message that my pain didn’t matter, that I could be laughed at and still stay.
But I wasn’t just thinking about myself anymore—I was thinking about the child growing inside me.
I couldn’t justify raising them in a home where emotional cruelty was dismissed as humor.
Daniel didn’t make a mistake; he made a choice.
And that made mine clear.
It’s only been two days since I left, but I feel no urge to turn back.
Daniel keeps messaging me, but I’ve stopped reading them.
