By 5:40 PM, the SUVs were backed out of the driveway, completely loaded up. The locksmith changed every single lock on the doors. Brandon sat on the couch in the suddenly quiet, echoing house, his head in his hands.
“I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating. “I just didn’t know how to say no to her.

I thought we could just deal with it for a few months.”

“You didn’t want to say no to her,” I corrected him. “You just wanted me to be the one forced to deal with it. You chose her comfort over our marriage.”
That night, I slept in the master bedroom with the door locked. Brandon slept on the couch. It’s been three weeks since that day. The house is finally quiet, and it’s finally clean. But the peace I thought I would feel isn’t there. I look at the walls we worked so hard to buy, and all I feel is the stain of betrayal.

I’ve scheduled a meeting with a divorce attorney for next Tuesday. Brandon thinks we are going to marriage counseling to “work through this.” He doesn’t realize I’ve already made my decision. I am keeping the house, I am keeping my peace, and I am cutting out the dead weight. Judith was right about one thing: whoever I say can come in, comes in. And none of them are ever stepping foot through my door again.