It wasn’t during a fight. There was no shouting. No tears. He sat her down at the kitchen table on a Tuesday evening and spoke like he was outlining a deal. “I want out,” he said. “I’m not meant for married life. I don’t like being monitored all the time.”
She stared at him. “Monitored?” “I want freedom,” he went on. “And I want the business. The house. The cars. I built all of it.” Something in her snapped. “You built it?” she said. “By yourself?” He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”