“My husband texted from vegas: ‘just married my coworker. You’re pathetic BTW.’ I replied: ‘cool.’ Then I blocked his cards and changed the house locks. Next morning, police were at my door…”

When gossip reached me, it only confirmed what I already knew: he was unraveling. Not dramatically enough to earn cinematic pity. Just steadily, stupidly, exactly as men like him do when the systems that once cushioned their carelessness are removed. He missed deadlines. Borrowed money from the wrong people. Lost another temporary job. Started telling contradictory versions of the divorce story depending on the audience, which only worked until someone compared notes. Rebecca, last I heard, had moved in briefly with her mother and then out again after some explosive fight involving borrowed jewelry and a maxed-out card.

I did not chase updates. But I did not resist them when they floated my way either. There is nothing wrong with enjoying the weather report from a storm you survived.

The gym became my quiet rebuild.