The laughter, the splashing, the music—all of it faded as the truth hit me like a punch to the chest. Mark didn’t love me. He used me.
When Mark returned, smiling as if nothing was wrong, I looked at him differently. And for the first time, I didn’t shrink. I stood up, grabbed a towel, wrapped myself in it, and said, “We’re done here.”
His smile dropped instantly.
But I didn’t care. Because that was the moment I decided: I would never be someone’s trophy again. I’m staying at my sister’s now and talking to a lawyer.
Am I wrong for wanting to divorce him over this?
