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

The boutique’s success brought unexpected validation. Local business magazines wanted to feature my story, not as a scorned wife, but as a savvy businesswoman who’d protected her interests. Young entrepreneurs asked for advice about keeping business and personal finances separate.

The best protection is preparation, I told one young woman who reminded me of Melissa. And always trust your instincts. Mark’s mother called occasionally, usually after he’d done something particularly self-destructive.

He’d tried online gambling, hoping for a quick fix to his financial problems. He’d gotten involved with a pyramid scheme that promised fast returns. Each attempt to recover his former lifestyle just dug him deeper into trouble.

I don’t know where we went wrong with him, she sighed during one call. His father and I offered to help him get back on his feet if he’d just take responsibility for his actions. But he’s still blaming everyone else.

You, Melissa, his company, the judge. I listened politely but maintained my distance. Their family drama wasn’t my problem anymore.

My life had moved forward, filled with plans for a third boutique location and a possible expansion into luxury accessories. The only reminder of Mark’s impact on my life was a framed screenshot hanging in my office, his final text before I blocked his number. Have fun with your little shop, at least it’ll keep you busy in your old age.

Below it sat my latest business award, proof that sometimes the best revenge is simply succeeding on your own terms. One year after the divorce, I hosted a grand opening for my third boutique location. The event attracted local media and the story they wanted to tell wasn’t about my failed marriage.

It was about a successful businesswoman expanding her brand. Mark’s betrayal had become a mere footnote in my success story. During the event, Melissa unexpectedly walked in.

She looked younger than ever, or maybe I just felt that much stronger. She shifted uncomfortably, clutching her purse like a shield. I owe you an apology, she said quietly.

I believed everything he told me, about how you were cold, controlling, how you didn’t support his dreams. Then I watched him try the same manipulation tactics on me when things got tough. I continued arranging a display of designer sunglasses.

Those weren’t his dreams, Melissa, they were escapes. There’s a difference. I know that now.

She paused, then added, He tried to move in when you froze the accounts. Thought my studio apartment would be temporary. After two weeks of him complaining about the size of my closet and suggesting I take out a loan for a bigger place, I understood what you meant about the difference between dreams and escapes.

I actually laughed at that. Let me guess, he had big plans but no way to fund them? Exactly. Everything was going to work out once his investments paid off, once he got that promotion, once his cryptocurrency definitely increased in value.

She shook her head. I’m dating someone my own age now. We have student loans and a small apartment, but at least we’re building something real…