My husband broke up with me via text: «I’m done with you…

The text arrived between helping customers at my boutique. I’m leaving you and moving to Miami with my 20-year-old girlfriend. I’ve already emptied our joint account, ha ha.

My hands didn’t shake as I read it. My voice didn’t waver as I helped Mrs. Peterson pick out a scarf. The only sign that my husband of 12 years had just nuked our marriage via text was a slight tightening around my eyes.

I waited until Mrs. Peterson left, her purchase wrapped in our signature silver paper, before typing my response. Good luck. My name is Claire, and at 38, I’d just received the most callous goodbye in history.

But while Mark was probably gloating over his grand exit, imagining me in tears over his betrayal, I was calmly locking up my boutique for the day. The signs had been there for months. The late nights at work that never matched his pay deposits.

The sudden password changes on his phone. The way he’d started going to the gym religiously, buying new clothes, trying to recapture his youth. Three months ago, I’d found a receipt for dinner for two at an expensive restaurant on a night he’d claimed to be working late.

That same evening, I’d opened a separate bank account at a different bank. A week later, when he mentioned wanting to combine our accounts to simplify things, I’d agreed cheerfully while moving my personal savings to the new account. The joint account he’d just emptied? It contained exactly enough to keep him from getting suspicious.

About two months’ worth of regular deposits. The rest was safely tucked away, along with detailed records of every suspicious transaction he’d made over the past year. My phone buzzed again.

Don’t bother begging. Melissa and I leave tomorrow. I’ll send for my things later.

Melissa. The new receptionist at his office. I’d met her at the company Christmas party.

Watched her laugh too loudly at Mark’s jokes. Noticed how she’d touched his arm when she thought no one was looking. She was young enough to be his daughter.

Naive enough to think she was special. I didn’t respond to his text. Instead, I called my lawyer.

The one I’d consulted two months ago when I’d found the hotel charges on our credit card statement. It’s time, I said simply. He just made his move.

The papers are ready, she replied. I’ll file them first thing tomorrow. Do you want me to have him served in Miami? No rush…