His name was Theo.
He was almost five.
Graham told me Theo was his son.
That revelation should have destroyed me.
Instead, something stranger happened.
I felt relieved.
For months, I had known something was wrong. Graham disappeared on weekends, transferred money between accounts without explanation, guarded his phone, and became increasingly cruel whenever I asked ordinary questions.
Once I finally knew why, I stopped doubting myself.
I hired an attorney.
Six weeks later, Graham received divorce papers at his office.
That evening, he came home furious.
“You’re destroying seventeen years because I made a mistake.”
“A mistake doesn’t require a second apartment.”
His face hardened.
