My husband’s best friend bet him I’d cry when they served me divorce papers…

And with a baby on the way, she paused for dramatic effect. He’s going to be cutting a check so big he’ll need a payment plan. My smile widened, not for the money, not even close, but because I could finally sit in my own living room without bracing myself for war.

I’m proud of you, Jenny added softly. That nearly broke me. Thanks, I whispered, for staying when I didn’t even know I needed someone.

You’ve always been strong, Steph. You just finally let yourself believe it. The fallout was quiet at first, like snow melting instead of avalanching.

Some friends unfollowed me. Some chose sides. A few sent me cautious texts full of disclaimers, and I’m not taking sides, but others were bolder.

One message from a woman I hadn’t spoken to in two years simply read, I wish I had your strength. A bouquet of peonies arrived at my doorstep days later. No name, just a card.

About time. See, Brandon’s assistant. Claire.

I smiled and placed the flowers on the mantle. Of course she knew. It was only a matter of time before words spread at his office.

The man who had once made jokes about training wives like interns suddenly lost his audience. His best friend Nate stopped laughing in meetings. The comments stopped.

The swagger grew. Apparently, his team noticed he’d been leaving early, muttering under his breath, ignoring deadlines. I overheard Beth’s husband on the phone with someone later that week.

Nah man. He’s been off. Like, haunted.

Haunted. Good. The man who once said I’d be nothing without him now walked alone at lunch, forgotten in a world that once cheered for his cruelty.

Me. I started buying lavender soap again. I painted the nursery soft sage green.

A color he once called pointless. I hung tiny string lights around the window and placed a stuffed giraffe in the corner. I started lighting candles after dinner and drinking herbal tea in the sunroom, barefoot, unbothered.

One evening, I caught myself humming while folding laundry, something I hadn’t done since my second anniversary. I bought new bedsheets, white with tiny gold stars, and slept diagonally across the mattress because I could. One afternoon, I passed Brandon on the street.

He was coming out of a bank, talking into his phone, looking irritated. He didn’t notice me. Or maybe he did but didn’t know what to say.

I kept walking. Later, Jenny sent me a screenshot. Brandon’s firm had removed his name from the quarterly newsletter.

I replied with a single thumbs-up emoji. Then I made tea and watched the wind dance through the curtains. It wasn’t about revenge anymore.

Not really. It was about small things. Freedom.

Peace. A slow, steady rebuild of a life that belonged to me. And the quiet realization that the woman he tried to break was now the one who had rebuilt everything without him.

The first time I felt her kick I was standing barefoot in the kitchen, humming along to an old Nina Simone record while slicing peaches for a pie. It was so soft at first I thought I imagined it. A flutter like a wing brushing the inside of my belly…