I came home to find Greg greeting me with an unusual smile and offering a foot massage—a gesture so out of character it raised alarms. A faint click from the bathroom only confirmed my suspicion: something was off.

Six years earlier, I was 29 and fresh out of a long-term relationship when Greg entered my life. He charmed me with his easy smile and attention, and within a year, we were married.

At first, everything seemed perfect, but over time, Greg’s priorities shifted. He didn’t want kids, and he constantly canceled plans, making me feel invisible. Our marriage grew distant, and I convinced myself it was normal.

That evening, Greg’s overly cheerful attitude made me uneasy. As he massaged my feet, I heard a click from the bathroom. When I went to investigate, I found a tube of lipstick on the counter—definitely not mine.

Then, I heard a sneeze from the bedroom. I found a woman hiding in my closet, wearing my robe. Greg’s feeble explanations only made things worse. Furious, I told him to leave.

The next day, I filed for divorce. I redecorated, leaned on friends and family, and rebuilt my life. Greg’s betrayal hurt, but it taught me I deserved better. For the first time in years, I felt free.