I might have loved him for the entirety of my life, firmly denying my own unhappiness. I might have invested ten, twenty, fifty more years in the broken construct of a marriage frowned upon by all logic and love, steadfastly asserting that I was content, had things not changed.

Now, I struggle with other obstacles, no other adult in my home, claiming love as the impetus to overrun me. I am without the boundaries of his claims, struggling with money like always, without the burden of his desires. I beg, I slog, and I feel more pride in myself - more freedom - than I have in years.

Perhaps I should thank him for cheating. I had no idea how much I hated him until he did this, and now I'm honest with myself as I haven't been in a decade.

Goodbye Mr. Unfaithful. Goodbye abusive liar.

You told me I was ugly and asked too much of you, and I believed you, thinking myself lucky that you remained by my side. You groaned at my confessions and undressed other women with your eyes.

Good riddance.

"Time may change me, but I can't change time."