When I signed the final page, my hands were steady, and for the first time since Tyler walked out, I felt powerful instead of afraid.
A week later, I returned to the apartment Tyler and I had shared, carrying Mason in his car seat and planning to gather my belongings.
Tyler was lounging on the couch scrolling through his phone, and he barely looked up when I entered before saying, “I figured you would stay at your sister’s place.”
“I came for my things,” I replied calmly, and he laughed under his breath.
He stood and said, “You cannot just walk out, I pay the rent here,” and I felt a strange calm settle over me.
“Do not worry,” I answered, “I will not need your apartment,” and I walked into the bedroom to pack Mason’s clothes.
From the doorway he muttered, “You have no idea how expensive life is without me,” and I turned to face him with steady eyes.
“You are right,” I said softly, “I have no idea what life is like without you holding me back,” and then I placed a folder on the dresser.
He frowned and opened it, and when he saw the number printed clearly across the page, his face drained of color.
“Is this real,” he whispered, and I nodded.