He said my BFF divorcing her cheating husband was stupid—so I decided to make him single too

"Aunt Esther, please, you have to come talk to my mom." The call came just as I was reaching for my coffee. I turned off the stove, where I was about to warm some milk, and rushed out the door, heart pounding, straight to Diana's house. Timothy, her son, practically flew to the door when he saw me, grabbing my hand like a lifeline. "You're the only one she really listens to; you two are so close. Please talk to her! Everything was fine, and now all of a sudden she wants to divorce my dad. I don't get

it. Did she tell you why?" I asked, frowning. "No, all she said was she's had enough. But after all these years, what's the point? Why now?" Before I could even step inside, I heard Tomas yelling from the living room. "I swear, you're just having a damn midlife crisis! I made one comment about your food being too salty, and now you want a divorce? This is insane!" "Toas, for God's sake, could you not?" I called out as I walked in, my tone sharper than I intended. There was Diana, my friend of nearly 30 years, sitting on

the couch, arms crossed, eyes cold and silent— not a single word from her. Tomas turned to me, throwing his hands in the air. "Perfect timing, Esther! Maybe you can tell me if I'm out of line here. All I said was that after all these years, she still hasn't figured out how to season a dish properly—that's it! And suddenly, she's storming off like I insulted royalty! What, she's too precious to hear a single complaint now? And ever since she retired, she's been on this mood swing roller coaster! Nothing's ever good enough! He's always out yoga, dance

classes, who knows what else—barely home! And I never said a word, but now she's just plain impossible!" "Enough!" I cut him off, turning to Diana. "What's going on?" She finally spoke, her voice low but unwavering. "Don't try to talk me out of it, Esther. I've made up my mind. I'm leaving him." Tomas started to snap back again, but I quickly stepped between them and pushed him gently toward the door. "Go cool off for a minute; let me talk to her alone." The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the second it did, Diana's

tears—tears she'd clearly been holding back—finally started to fall. I pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to her. "What happened, Diana? How did it get to this point?" She wiped her eyes, but her voice was steady. "I just don't want to do this anymore, Esther." I sighed. "But after all these years, you have been through this? This was supposed to be the time to finally enjoy life." She shook her head slowly. "Do you remember when he secretly bought a house and a car for his ex-girlfriend? That betrayal? I never really got over it.

It's been a thorn in my side for years. Back then, I stayed because Timothy was still a kid. Later, when his parents got old, I stayed to take care of them. I told myself it wasn't worth the fight. Life was busy—raising a child, working full-time—and the years just passed." Her voice turned even more resolute. "But now Timothy's grown, we're getting older, and I'm still the one keeping this house together. The moment I try to have a little space, pursue a hobby, enjoy anything for myself, he mocks it, belittles me. I've been swallowing my pride for

decades, and I'm done." I leaned back, exhaling heavily. "That was a long time ago. You forgave him. Then why drag it all up now?" "Because I never really forgave him. I just buried it to survive. Why should I keep sacrificing my peace for a man who never once cared to understand me?" She looked up at me then, and the tears were gone, replaced by a quiet, unshakable strength. "At our age, Esther, you start to realize some wounds never really heal, and maybe the only way to find peace is to walk away from the person who

caused them." I stared at her, stunned—not by what she said, but by how deeply I understood it. Her words echoed something I'd buried long ago in the quiet corners of my own heart, something I'd never dared to say out loud. After I got back from Diana's house, I felt hollow, like something inside me had come undone. The truth is, George had also betrayed me once, back when we were younger. It happened the year his mother was hospitalized. He was in the middle of a critical promotion review at work, so I tried to shoulder everything for

him to ease his burden. I'd get up at dawn, juggle my full-time job, make breakfast and dinner for our son, and still find time to visit his mother at the hospital every day. But while I was running myself ragged, barely sleeping more than a few hours each night, George made a single visit to the hospital, and that was all it took for him to get involved with Bianca, a young nurse assigned to his mother's room. He told me he didn't want to disturb my rest and said he'd stay at the office for a few nights.

I thought he was being considerate, but the truth was he wasn't sleeping at the office; he was at Bianca's place. I didn't find out until a year later when Bianca showed up pregnant and demanding answers. Only then did George finally get down on his knees, slap himself across the face, and beg for forgiveness. He said it had meant nothing, that it was just a mistake—something he never thought would go this far. Though I was only a month away from starting middle school, I was furious—blindingly so—but I swallowed my rage. For the sake of our son

later, when George began ignoring Bianca, she tried to force his hand. She showed up at his office, threatening to expose everything unless he divorced me. On her way there, she got into a car accident. She wasn't seriously injured, but she lost the baby. Once she was discharged, she came to me calm, deliberate, calculating. "Either I stepped aside and let her marry George," she said, "or I paid her for the emotional damage she'd suffered." I couldn't risk her making another scene; I couldn't let Bill find out, not when it would shatter his image of his father

or distract him from school. So, I wrote her a check for $100,000 and told her to leave. That's how the whole mess was finally buried. Years passed; everyone else assumed I'd moved on, that it was water under the bridge. But how could it be? That wound never healed; it's always been there, lodged deep in my heart like a splinter I learned to live with but never forgot. And somehow, seeing what happened at Diana's house today brought it all back. It reminded me that maybe it's time I stopped pretending everything was fine. Maybe it's time I

finally took a hard look at the marriage I've been holding together all these years. I walked into the house, still feeling unsettled, my thoughts tangled and heavy. Bill and his wife, Martha, were sitting on the couch. He was typing away on his laptop, and she was scrolling through her phone. “Hey, you're back!” Martha looked up with a cheerful smile. “Mom, I've got a nail appointment with a friend later. Could you feed Tony his bottle for me while I'm out?” “Sure,” I replied absently, sinking into the armchair without another word. “Is everything okay?” Martha picked up

on my mood right away. “I went to see Diana today.” “Oh, were you two heading to yoga together?” she asked casually. “If you're planning to start yoga again, will you still have time to help with Tony?” “No, she’s getting a divorce.” Bill paused mid-typing, glancing up with a furrowed brow. “What? Diana’s getting divorced? Come on, that doesn’t make any sense! At her age, does she even know what life out there looks like?” I stayed quiet for a moment, studying Bill, then I asked, “Do you remember the year you were about to start middle school? That

nurse who used to come by looking for your dad?” Bill blinked, then chuckled. “Oh, you mean Bianca? Yeah, sure; she used to always bring me chocolate.” “She was your dad's mistress.” The room went dead silent. I figured it was time he finally knew the truth, but Bill just looked down at his phone again, nonchalant. “Mom, I already knew.” My heart dropped. “Since when?” “A few years ago. Not long after I started working. I saw Dad bringing fruit to her one day. I recognized her immediately and asked him about it.” “What did he say?” “He didn’t

lie. He told me everything—that he’d screwed up back then but later helped her out with a job transfer or something because, well, you know... because she couldn't have kids anymore after the accident. He said he just felt sorry for her, said she had no one.” “But you’ve got a family! You’ve got us! Isn’t that happiness enough?” “What did you just say?” I stared at him, stunned. “Your father’s still in touch with her?” Bill hesitated. “He helped her to get a new job, even.” I shot to my feet. “When did this happen?” “I don’t know. It’s

not like I arranged it; I’m just telling you what he said.” “What else did your father tell you?” “Nothing really; just that she’s had a rough life and sometimes he helps out when he can. Said it was just being kind.” “Being kind?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Was sleeping with her part of his charitable work too? Your father’s a real saint, isn’t he?” Bill frowned. “Mom, come on, don’t make it sound worse than it is. I just don’t think it’s worth making a big deal out of this. It’s all in the past; what could

Dad possibly do now? He’s old. I’m sure it’s just him trying to help her out, nothing more.” “And where do you think that money comes from? The money he uses to help her? Isn’t that part of our joint assets?” “Geez, Mom, it’s not like it’s a lot of money,” he muttered under his breath. Just then, George walked in. “Ugh, what a lousy day for fishing,” he groaned, rubbing his lower back. “Barely caught anything. So, is dinner ready yet? It’s late. What have you been doing? Just sitting here?” Bill frantically gestured to him, trying to signal

something with his eyes, but George didn’t notice. He was completely oblivious to the tension in the room. “I'm talking to you! Where's dinner? Did you go out chatting with Diana again? Can you please take care of things at home before running off to socialize?” I ignored him and asked flatly, “When did you arrange Bianca's job transfer?” George froze mid-step. “What? Why are you bringing her up out of nowhere?” He kicked off his shoes and tried to brush me off with a laugh. “I’m asking you when exactly did you help her get that transfer?” He glanced

at Bill, who instantly ducked his head behind his laptop. “Esther, can we please not do this again?” George snapped. “It’s been years! How many times are we going to go over this? If I was wrong, I’m the scum of the earth. What do you want me to do, jump off a building to atone for it? Why are you making this a scene? I haven’t done anything to you! I walk in, and you’re already giving me attitude!” “Stop dodging the question! When did—” You help her transfer jobs. I said nothing more, just stared at him with

unwavering intensity, finally realizing I wouldn't back down. George sighed in defeat. "Yeah, fine. I helped Bianca get a transfer. She's had health issues ever since that accident; she couldn't work night shifts anymore. I felt responsible. I just wanted to do something so she'd stop showing up." I let out a cold laugh. "Stop showing up, or was it you who couldn't let go? A job transfer wasn't enough. Still playing the knight in shining armor, huh? What else? Little care packages, surprise visits, spare cash? Oh, come on, it's just stuff. You wouldn't even care about it—junk, really.

Things you'd probably toss anyway. Why are you clinging to the past like this? I swear, I only helped her get that one transfer back in the year of 2006—that's it! Nothing since then." "Year 2006," I repeated, stunned. June. He said nothing. That silence was all the answer I needed. That year, I pushed myself so hard that I ended up sick. The doctor told me my immune system was too weak and suggested I start taking vitamins and collagen supplements regularly to rebuild my health. I still remember standing at the health aisle, staring at those bottles of

organic supplements for the longest time, wanting to buy them but hesitating. They were just too expensive. But just a few days later, I noticed that our bank account was suddenly missing $5,000. When I asked George about it, he said there had been some reshuffling at work and he needed to host dinners and buy gifts to maintain his network and keep his position secure. "So what you really mean is you spent that money on Bianca under the guise of networking?" "Oh, come on, that was ages ago." "And what gave you the right, George?" I grabbed the

mug on the table and hurled it at him. "What gave you the right to use our money behind my back to spend on another woman? What the hell is wrong with you?" George jumped to his feet. "It was years ago! You didn't know about it then, and nothing happened to you! Why the hell are you blowing up about it now?" "What's going on?" Martha walked out from the bedroom, makeup freshly done. "My mom found out about Bianca," Bill muttered under his breath. "Why would you even tell her?" Martha whispered back, clearly irritated, but I heard

every word. "So you knew too?" I turned to her, voice low but sharp. "So everyone knew, and I was just the fool in the dark? You all still see me as part of this family?" "We just didn't want to upset you. I mean, come on, if I'd known you'd react like this, I wouldn't have said anything," Bill mumbled. "I just didn't think you'd still care so much after all this time." "Oh, I care too much. That's my fault now." I stood up straight, my voice cold and clear. "Then maybe I do care too much. Maybe

I'm petty, but I'm also done pretending." "Wait, Mom, you're not thinking about getting a divorce too, are you? Like Diana?" "I am." Bill stared at me in disbelief, like he was seeing me for the first time in his life. Martha, trying to keep the peace, stepped in cautiously. "Esther, if you're hurt, then talk it out with George. But do you really need to go as far as divorce?" "I've spent my entire life swallowing disappointment, playing the good wife, keeping this family running. Why shouldn't I want a life of my own now?" And George, standing there

completely blind to his own guilt, would never understand. To him, I was just being unreasonable. "There's nothing left to talk about," I said calmly, suppressing the last bit of bitterness rising in my throat. George knew how deeply his affair hurt me; he knew, and he still kept in touch with that woman behind my back. "I'm done wasting my time in a marriage built on lies." "I swear you've lost your mind," George snapped. "You really think this won't make you a laughing stock at your age?" "I said I was sorry. You said you forgave me. What

more do you want from me?" He jabbed a finger at me, like I was the one who'd done wrong. "You just keep dredging up the past over and over again. When does it end?" "Hey, hey, stop shouting!" Martha and Bill jumped in to separate us, each grabbing one of us by the arm. Martha pulled me into the bedroom, trying to calm me down. "Esther, you've been the bigger person your whole life. Even when Bianca caused a scandal back then, you stayed quiet. You cleaned up all of George's mess, and now you're dragging all of that

up again. Wasn't all that effort wasted?" She gently rubbed my back as she spoke. "Let me in, Bill. Talk to George; get him to apologize again. Maybe that'll help, right? I mean, it's not like he spent much on her recently. Don't make yourself sick over this." "I'm not angry anymore," I said softly. The fire had burned out; all that was left in me now was a deep, steady certainty. "And I don't need an apology." Martha looked relieved. "See? That's better." "I just want a divorce." From that day on, George and I began living separately. He

stormed out in a fury, shouting that from now on, we'd live our own lives. So I showed him the door and made sure he didn't come back. We actually had two spare condos that were being rented out, though they were both a bit far from home. Bill, worried about his father, ended up renting him a place nearby in the same neighborhood. In the days that followed, B tried several times to talk me out of it. He even brought over a... A few friends to help persuade me—people who were mostly old colleagues or former neighbors. They

stood firmly on the outside looking in, with no real grasp of my pain or the years of fatigue I'd carried. All they could offer were the usual empty platitudes. "Esther, at our age, what matters most is stability. If you divorce now, who's going to take care of you if you get sick? What about your finances? Single life isn't as easy as you think. Are you sure you're cut out for it?" I understood their concerns. I didn't resent them for saying it, but none of them truly understood how tired I was. Tired of being the family's

invisible backbone. Tired of always putting others first. Tired of constantly pushing my own feelings aside just to keep the peace. Then, just a few days later, I walked into the living room, and there he was again—George. "What are you doing here?" I frowned. His eyes widened with defiance. "This is my house! Why shouldn't I be here?" I almost laughed. "Wasn't it you, George, who said we'd go our separate ways? You're over 50 and still can't keep your own word." But then again, when had he ever kept a promise? The same man who had once knelt

on the floor, swearing he'd never see Bianca again, now stood in front of me like nothing had happened. "Seriously, Esther, you're still going on about this?" he snapped. "What is this? Some midlife rebellion? Throwing your husband out like the younger generation? What, you think this makes you powerful or something?" "No," I said coolly, "I just don't like filth in my house." His face flushed, and his voice rose several octaves. Clutching his chest, he forced himself to calm down. "I came back on my own, you know. That's me giving you a chance to save face. Don’t

push your luck. If you don't let me move back in now, don’t come begging me later. I'm giving you dignity here." I didn't even bother arguing. I slowly got up and walked over to the table to pour myself a cup of tea. "There we go, that's better," he muttered. "Old couples shouldn't hold grudges overnight anyway." "Hey, what the hell?" The cup was empty. Now I'd thrown the cold tea straight at him. "George, can you for once in your life actually stick to what you say? If you had the backbone to walk out, why crawl back

now?" "Fine, fine." He was livid. "You're unbelievable! Go ahead, follow Diana's lead. Old woman trying to start fresh like some teenager. See how that turns out for you two! I swear, the both of you are going to regret this. You don't want me around? No problem! I've got plenty of places to go." And with that, George slammed the door and walked out. I figured George must have gone running to Bill to complain because that very evening, I overheard Bill and Martha talking to Diana on the phone in the living room. "Aunt Diana, what exactly did

you say to my mom the other day? Now she's saying she wants a divorce too. Come on, Diana, I get that you and my mom are close, but your divorce is your business. Did you really have to drag her into it? Is this some kind of contagious trend now? You know what they say: better to ruin ten businesses than to break up one marriage." They had the phone on speaker, and with Diana's famously booming voice, I could hear every word clearly even from behind my bedroom door. "Bill, you're an adult," Diana said bluntly, "and adults

should understand that people have the right to make their own choices. Even if you're her son, you can't truly feel the pain your mother has carried, and that means you don't get to dictate how she should live her life. I don't believe Esther's decision to divorce came just from talking to me. I'm sure she's had her reasons for a long time. She's simply reached a point where she can't keep enduring it anymore." "You're over 30, married with a job. You don't need your mother glued to your side anymore. And as far as I know, the

only reason Esther didn't leave your father years ago was because of you. Don't you think she suffered long enough? And what's so terrible about divorce, anyway? We're following the law, doing it properly. What's wrong with that? After thirty-some years with George, how many more years is she supposed to keep sacrificing herself? Are you saying your mother doesn't even have the right to leave a marriage that's made her miserable?" There was a long pause before Bill finally responded. "I guess I never really thought about it that way. I just... I keep wondering if mom really goes

through with this, what happens to Dad?" "That's a good question," Diana snapped. "Where was George's concern about consequences when he cheated on her or when he stayed in contact with Bianca all these years? Did he ever think about how Esther would feel?" Back in my room, I couldn't help but chuckle. Diana, who's been locked in debate after debate about her own divorce lately, had clearly honed her argument skills to razor sharpness. Poor Bill didn't stand a chance. Sure enough, after a few more minutes, both he and Martha fell quiet. Whether they were convinced or just

gave up, I wasn't sure. When I stepped out, Bill was sitting on the couch looking completely deflated. "Mom, I just don't get it," he muttered. "I don’t even recognize Aunt Diana anymore. She's so different." I let out a cold laugh. "You remember when you had that high fever in high school? Nearly ended up with pneumonia. I was away on a business trip, and your father—well, he was probably off messing around with Bianca. It was Diana." Who drove you to the hospital in the middle of the night? She stayed by your side the entire time until

you were out of danger, and now you say you don't recognize her. Maybe it's not Diana who's changed; maybe it's you. Maybe you've just grown up and started forgetting how much we did for you. Maybe you've started thinking our voices don't matter anymore. "I didn't mean it like that," he sighed, lowering his head. "I just... I want you both to be okay. You've been together for so long; it's not easy to just let that go." I patted his shoulder gently. My son tried to see this from my side. If, after all these decades, I've still

made the choice to walk away, then it's not out of anger or impulse; it's because I've truly thought it through. I've spent my whole life doing what was best for everyone else. There were so many things I wanted to do but never could, and now I just want to do one thing: I want to divorce your father. I didn't say anything else after that. I figured I should give him time to process it on his own. Later that evening, I noticed Diana had sent me a message. "What's going on? I just heard from your son.

You're really divorcing George?" Too. I replied, "I finally made up my mind. You were right; there's no point in suffocating myself anymore." She sent back a voice message, her tone sincere and earnest. "If you're truly sure, then of course I won't try to talk you out of it. But I have to tell you this path isn't easy. I've learned that firsthand. The moment you file for divorce, everyone who thinks they know what's best for you will crawl out of the woodwork. I've been arguing with people nonstop; I'm hoarse and furious half the time." I smiled,

typing back a reply—part encouragement for her, part a reminder to myself. "We'll be fine once we've made up our minds. No amount of noise from the sidelines can shake us. It'll be a long battle, Shir, but if you ever need backup, just say the word." "Deal," she wrote. A few days later, I hadn't expected Diana would actually need my help urgently. That afternoon, I got a frantic message from her: "Tomas and Timothy dragged every relative and friend to my house; it's chaos! Get over here now!" I jumped in a cab and rushed over. The front

door was wide open, and the house was packed with people—elders, children, neighbors—all crowded in. "Diana, we're only here to talk some sense into you," said David, Tomas's older brother. "At our age, threatening divorce is just asking for trouble. You two have been yelling about divorce so much, the whole neighborhood's treating it like a comedy show." David continued, "Rumors are spreading, and it's getting ugly. If it were me, I'd be embarrassed." His wife, Laura, chimed in right on cue. "She's right, Diana. At this stage in life, companionship is what matters most. Look at David and me;

we've had our fights and rough patches, but I never once considered divorce." Others joined in quickly. "Exactly, Diana—any problem between husband and wife can be worked through. Why throw everything away now, just when life is supposed to get easier? You may not care about your reputation, but what about Timothy? He's been so stressed lately; can't sleep properly. That's why he called us—to help talk some sense into you." "Diana, you've always been a role model. You took such good care of Tomas's mother. You've been a wonderful wife; all us younger folks looked up to you. People

always said Tomas married well. But if you two get divorced now, who knows what gossip will fly around? Look, what goes on between you and Tomas isn't really our business, but we've known you for years. We just don't want to see you make a mistake in the heat of the moment." Calm and poised, Diana took a slow sip of tea as they all spoke over each other. When they finally quieted down, she cleared her throat. "Are you all finished?" she asked, voice cool and steady. "Good. Now it's my turn. First, when I choose to divorce

is entirely my decision. If you think people our age shouldn't be allowed to divorce, feel free to go change the law—ban divorce after 50. Second, Timothy is nearly 30. I raised him; he has a career, he's married. I've done my job as a mother. What happens in his life going forward is up to him. My divorce won't ruin him. Third, so what if I was a good wife? Was I sold to this family? Just because I was good to you doesn't mean I'm obligated to be your servant until I drop dead." David frowned and tried

to speak again. "Come on, Diana, you've misunderstood; we're only trying to help." "Oh, since we're being honest, I've got some helpful things to say too," she said, turning to Laura with a razor-sharp smile. "Remember when David was sneaking around with that coworker? Took her out on dates, even bought her a luxury handbag, meanwhile you were still dragging around your reusable grocery bag to work?" Laura's face went pale; she turned her head away. "That was a long time ago. I forgave him." "Unlike you, I don't see the point in dragging up old dirt." "Exactly!" Tomas jumped

in, completely oblivious. "Why bring up all this ancient nonsense?" Really? Diana raised an eyebrow. "Did you know David's been skimming off his paycheck for years to blow it on God knows what—clubs, drinks—whatever? He's been doing it behind your back for over a decade." Laura turned sharply toward David. "Is that true?" "Wait, why are we suddenly talking about me?" David stammered. "I'll explain when we—” "Get home! No, you'll explain right here in front of everyone!" Laura snapped. "Your whole damn family is here! What are you afraid of?" "Diana, please, this is getting out of hand." Susie,

David's daughter-in-law, stepped forward to try to calm things down, but Diana wasn't finished. "Susie, maybe you didn't know, but Jon's little story about you being his first love? Total lie. He dated someone else for eight years, brought her home for dinner more than once! Laura used to say more than once that she wished he'd dump you and go back to that girl." Susie's hand froze. "Madir! I knew something was off!" she shouted. She turned and slapped Jon hard across the face. "Was your last trip to San Francisco really for work, or were you seeing her?"

"It wasn't like that! I swear! Just let me explain!" "And I'm not good enough, huh? Please! I could do way better than you! You're nothing but a grown-ass man who still clings to his mommy. If anyone's filing for divorce, it'll be me!" "Who are you calling a mama's boy?" Laura exploded. And just like that, the room descended into chaos. People shouting, pointing fingers, arguments flying. Secrets, grudges, and long-buried resentment came bursting out like floodgates had opened. Tomas and Timothy tried to play peacemakers but ended up getting yelled at in the crossfire. The entire scene was

pure mayhem. Eventually, the shouting wore everyone out, and things began to quiet down. David, looking completely disheveled, staggered toward the door and shouted over his shoulder, "I never should have gotten involved in your mess!" Then he turned back one last time, adding bitterly, "But just so we're clear, Mom's been living at my house for a year now. It's your turn to take care of her—divorce or not!" Diana's mother-in-law was nearly bedridden, and they'd long agreed to rotate care—one son per year, no nursing homes. "Take it up with your brother," Diana said coldly. "I'm done playing

nurse. I'm not married into this family anymore. I have no obligation!" David turned to Tomas, furious, dragging him out of the house to hash out when he'd take over the caregiving duties. The house finally quieted down compared to the chaos everyone else had left behind. Diana sat cross-legged like a queen watching a show, sipping her tea with a look that said, "If you make things ugly, I'll burn it all down with you." I walked over, laughing. "You called me here in such a rush, and I didn't even get a chance to play a part." She

chuckled. "I didn't call you to help me argue; I called you to witness your fabulous friend Diana in action." I gave her a thumbs up. "You've got a sharp tongue and nerves of steel!" She let out a huff. "I've spent years being the quiet, selfless one. Did they really think a few self-righteous speeches would change my mind? People like that never truly understand unless they've lived your pain. All they see is a woman too old to stir up trouble. And David's family? They just don't want to lose their free caregiver. They talk about honor and

decency, but all they care about is who picks up the slack. I'm done trying to reason with people who don't want to understand. Sometimes exposing their dirty laundry is the only way to make them realize why I'm walking away." She took another sip of tea. "Though normally, I'm very reasonable and kind. I only bring out the fireworks when I absolutely have to." I burst into laughter. I hadn't felt this light in a long time. "How are things on your end?" I asked, handing her a handful of nuts. "Not great. Bill and Martha had taken turns

trying to talk me out of it these past few days. George, sensing I wasn't bluffing anymore, had softened his stance. The other day, he came back home and said, 'All this fighting is pointless. Let's both take a step back, admit some faults, and move on.' I chased him out with a mop and called a locksmith the same afternoon to change the locks." "You'll regret this one day!" he yelled from outside the door. "A bitter woman with a nasty temper? Who'd want you?" "I could come over and give him a proper tongue-lashing," Diana offered, eyes sparkling.

"I'm on fire today!" Honestly, after her ten-against-one performance earlier, it was hard to believe she was the same woman who had cried on my shoulder just weeks ago. "No need," I shook my head. "This is my mess. I've lived half a life for everyone else; now I'm finally living it for myself. That's not negotiable." "Exactly," she stretched with a groan. "Sitting that long gave me a backache. Come on," she said, grabbing my hand. "Let’s go to dance class." Arm in arm, we strolled to the dance studio. Today's class was a partner dance, and the instructor

assigned us both partners. But we had barely danced for a few minutes when Diana suddenly pulled me aside. "What's wrong?" I whispered. "Did that old guy try something funny?" "Shh!" she said, motioning toward the window facing the park. "Look out there, by the little garden—Isn't that George with Bianca?" I turned in the direction she pointed. "Oh, well, speak of the devil." Even if Bianca turned to ash, I'd still recognize her. There they were, sitting together on a bench. Bianca wore a pale blue dress, her hair pinned up, leaning in and softly speaking to George. Diana,

brimming with fire, grabbed my hand. "On your call, Esther! I swear I'll tear them both apart right here!" I smiled coldly. "Let’s go." We marched straight into the garden and stood in front of them, arms crossed, expressions sharp as knives. "George!" Diana practically shouted his name loud enough to make everyone in the park turn. And look, wow, already bringing your old mistress out for a stroll, and you're not even divorced yet! Both of them froze. Bianca's hand was still resting on George's collar; just moments earlier, she'd been adjusting it tenderly. Having an affair out in

the open now. I added my voice, sharp and biting. All the surrounding eyes were on us now, and George—George the coward—turned pale. His first instinct wasn't to explain, but to snatch Bianca's hand off him and bolt like a guilty child. "Oh no, not so fast!" I stepped forward, blocking his path and grabbing him by the arm. "What's the matter? Can't face what you've done? Are you even a man?" Bianca's face turned bright red. She tried to dodge the stares and mumbled, "We're just friends, just talking." "Talking?" I sneered. "That was one hell of a conversation,

fixing his collar and all. Looked to me like they were about to kiss!" Diana chimed in loudly, drawing even more attention. George, realizing there was no escape, hung his head low, trying to shield his face like a criminal caught red-handed. But the lower he bowed his head, the louder the whispers around us grew. Diana looked thrilled by the spectacle, sighing theatrically. "Well, maybe for sure you can't blame him for that. Some people just can't resist reliving old flames." Even as she spoke, she tightened her grip on George's arm, holding him in place for maximum exposure.

"I am not the other woman!" Bianca finally burst out, raising her voice, but her denial only earned her more judgmental stares. "Oh my God, this park visit just got so interesting! Live soap opera: wife versus mistress. Shameless meeting out in the open like that!" George, true to form, said nothing; he just covered his face and tried to hide. The crowd thickened, and eventually, a park manager had to intervene, escorting all four of us to the administrative office to calm the situation. Before long, Bill and Martha came rushing in. One glance at the crowd and the

disheveled George slumped on the ground was enough to make Bill frown in disbelief. "Mom, what the hell is going on?" he asked, rubbing his temple, clearly exasperated. "What do you think happened?" Diana shrugged, her face the picture of faux innocence. "Your dad was having a not-so-coincidental chance encounter with Bianca, practically sitting in each other's laps! Your mom and I just happened to walk by—total coincidence." "Dad!" Bill sighed, visibly annoyed. "Can you just stop causing chaos for once?" George immediately turned to him like a drowning man grabbing at a lifeline. "Bill, your mother is being completely

unreasonable! I was just out meeting a friend; she showed up out of nowhere, caused a huge scene, humiliated me in front of everyone!" "Oh please," I scoffed, "save the victim act, George. You're not fooling anyone. Don't blame your dad!" Bianca chimed in, her voice low and sweet, trying to play the martyr. "He's been in such a bad mood lately. I was just talking with him, trying to cheer him up. We weren't doing anything wrong! That's why we met in the open, but your mom barged in, throwing accusations! Why don't you show some compassion for your

father instead of scolding him?" "That's enough, ma'am," Bill snapped, turning toward her. "Our family is already a mess; you're not helping. Do us a favor and stay away from my dad, all right?" "And Diana," he added, sighing, "you really couldn't stop my mom from escalating things?" "I tried!" Diana said dramatically, fanning herself with a paper flyer. "I was doing everything I could to keep things calm. You have no idea how stressful it was! I'm sweating like crazy!" "Can't you two handle your issues at home?" Martha muttered, trying to keep her voice low. "Making a public

scene like this? It just looks bad." "Oh, it looks bad?" I raised an eyebrow. "Did it look good when George was sneaking around with Bianca all these years? That didn't seem to bother anyone!" "All right, all right, let's all just calm down," one of the park security guards came over, clearly fed up. "This is a public space. Please don't cause any more disturbances, okay?" Bill quickly tried to smooth things over. "Yeah, yeah, we're leaving. Let's go—no need to give everyone more of a show." Bianca scrambled to her feet, clearly eager to escape, but Diana was

faster. She reached out and lightly tapped Bianca on the shoulder. "Leaving so soon, Bianca? But didn't you say everything was out in the open? Why so nervous now?" Bianca's face turned a shade paler, and George looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. Finally, under the weight of all the staring eyes, we left the park. As we neared the parking lot, George couldn't hold it in anymore. "Esther!" he snapped, his voice brimming with irritation. "How long are you planning to drag this out?" "Drag this out?" I chuckled coldly. "Please, we're just getting started! But

if you're so desperate for peace, there's an easy solution: agree to the divorce. Once the papers are signed, you're free to grab coffee with whoever you want, date whoever you want. No one will care!" Bianca muttered under her breath, "George, you should have left her a long time ago." I folded my arms and stared them both down. "Great! Then hurry up and get this divorce done. The sooner we wrap it up, the sooner I can wish you two a lifetime of happiness." Bill stood off to the side, rubbing his forehead, defeated. "Whatever, do what you

want." George stayed silent, and Bianca kept her eyes on the ground, not daring to meet my gaze again. I didn't have to scream, throw punches, or lose control, but make no mistake: this round was mine. I got everything I needed. Damn, it felt good. Bill and Martha came home with me. After everything at the park, the moment we walked in, Bill collapsed into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I get it now; you're really not turning back this time.” Unlike his defeated posture, I felt energized, like I had just won a battle.

“At least you finally understand that,” I said, feeling oddly proud. “All right then,” he exhaled deeply. “Fine, get the divorce. I won't stop you anymore, but I want you to promise me one thing.” “What is it?” “You have to promise me you won't find another man.” I couldn't help but laugh out loud. “What's this? I never tried to control your high school crushes, but now that I'm older, you get to tell me whether I can date?” “I'm just looking out for you,” he argued. “You've heard the stories: people jumping into new relationships without really knowing

the other person, only to end up in another cage. You finally get out of one bad marriage. I don't want you walking into another trap.” “And what? You think I'll come crying to you again, asking for another divorce? You just don't want to deal with more family drama.” “I just don't want you to get hurt or made a fool of, that's all.” His voice carried concern, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. “Bill, what kind of scam do you think I'm going to fall for? Maybe you should worry more about your dad. Bianca's no

innocent little lamb. Let's hope she doesn't bleed him dry.” “That's not what I meant! I'm just saying…” “Well, as a woman, you're more likely to be taken advantage of.” “Listen to me, Bill,” I cut in sharply. “Don't you dare treat me like I'm some burden just because I'm divorced. If I want to date a man, that's my business, not yours. You don't get to control my life.” “I'm not trying to control you,” he rubbed his hair in frustration. “Fine. If you really must date someone, just don't get legally married again. That's all I'm asking.” “And

why the hell not?” “Because,” he said, launching into his justification, “you and Dad spent your whole lives building up these three properties. People out there are ruthless. There's an entire industry built around scamming divorced seniors. You have no idea how dangerous the senior dating scene is!” “Oh, and you do?” I raised a brow. “You've been out there dating seniors yourself?” “Mom,” he groaned, “you're missing the point! These men—Sweet Talkers, manipulators—none of them are really sincere.” “Right. No one's sincere except you two, huh? Let's be honest; what you're really afraid of is me splitting the property

with someone new.” At that, Bill froze. He glanced at Martha, who was also silent; neither said another word. Property always complicates things. “Diana,” said the next day as we relaxed at a massage parlor. She was nibbling on a small slice of cake, completely at ease. “You spend your whole life thinking love will pay you back, but look around; no one actually cares whether you were happy in that marriage. The only thing they care about is what they stand to lose if you walk away. The siblings? They're just worried there won't be anyone to take care

of their aging parents. Your husband? He's losing his free housekeeper. And your son? He's terrified your money will end up in someone else's hands.” “I've been thinking about that a lot lately,” I admitted, sighing. “Diana, tell me, what do you think is the most precious thing we have left?” She didn't answer right away. Then she said softly, “Time. We've already wasted half our lives. Every day now is more valuable than ever. Staying trapped in a toxic marriage for the sake of a few extra dollars? Not worth it.” I nodded. “Exactly! I'm done wasting my life

over petty property disputes. I want to finalize this divorce and start a new chapter.” “So, what's your plan?” she asked, leaning closer. “Take what's rightfully mine, let go of what I can, and turn enemies into allies. Bring in reinforcements.” “Well, damn!” she laughed. “Listen to you! You've really leveled up these past few weeks.” “Of course I have,” I grinned. “They say your 50s and 60s are the perfect age to reinvent yourself.” The next day, I sat down with Bill and Martha to present my idea. Martha's eyes widened in disbelief. “Y-You’re transferring the properties to us?”

she asked. I nodded. “One of the three is already under your name. I want to have the other two legally notarized and handed over to you before the divorce. You keep the documents. As for our savings and investments, we'll split 80% between George and me and give the remaining 20% to you two.” I had my pension, health insurance, rental income; I really didn't need much. Honestly, the money would eventually go to them anyway—might as well give it now and win some goodwill. I needed allies, not another battlefield. “This might actually work,” Bill agreed immediately. “Better

to lock things in before Dad loses his mind and gives everything to Bianca.” And just like that, I didn’t have to negotiate with George myself. Bill and Martha naturally became my representatives. What surprised me most was how quickly George agreed. Turns out he really did want to marry Bianca. After all those years of sneaking around, maybe he genuinely had feelings for her. He'd been held back only because Bill disapproved, but now that Bill had finally stepped aside, George didn’t even hesitate to accept the property split. Things went smoothly on Diana's end too; she had become

so fierce and sharp these days—like a blazing flame, untouchable and impossible to argue with. Eventually, even the most meddlesome people gave up trying to talk her out of the divorce. One month later, Diana and I picked up our divorce certificates on the very same day. Day we walked out of the courthouse, arm in arm, holding those divorce documents in hand like badges of liberation. Behind us, George and Tomas both scoffed loudly. “Well,” George muttered with a sneer, “looks like we’re finally free. No more wives breathing down our necks; just freedom and peace from here on

out.” “Damn right,” George replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Life’s about to get real easy now.” Diana turned her head and cast them a look of pure contempt. Not bothering to respond, she simply tightened her grip on my arm, and we climbed into the car, leaving those two behind in the dust—two men who didn’t deserve another second of our attention. After the divorce, Diana and I rented a villa together. We planted flowers in the front yard and vegetables in the back. When we weren’t painting oil canvases or sipping coffee in the sun, we were off

traveling—on cruises, to small towns, national parks, you name it! Neither of us touched housework again; we hired cleaners, assistants—whoever we needed. We cooked only when we felt like it, and when we didn’t, we ordered takeout, poured wine, and watched movies under fluffy blankets. Life was, in a word, delightful. One evening, wrapped in cozy throws with glasses of red wine in hand, we curled up on the couch watching *Roman Holiday*. When Audrey Hepburn's delicate figure appeared on screen, Diana suddenly went quiet. I turned and saw her eyes glistening. “What’s wrong?” I asked softly. She dabbed her

eyes with a tissue. “It just hit me,” she said. “People love to say that women like us—women our age—are bitter. Just bitter old nags.” She paused, her voice cracking a little. “But what they don’t understand is, no one’s born bitter. Life pushes you into it. We were all bright-eyed girls once—every last one of us.” Her words struck something deep in me, and for a moment, my own eyes stung. I pulled her into a hug. “We still are those girls,” I whispered. She chuckled through her tears. “Yeah, sure. Just with a few more wrinkles.” We both

burst out laughing, clinking our wine glasses, shoulders shaking like teenagers at a sleepover. And for that moment, just that moment, we really were those girls again. “Mom, Dad’s in the hospital.” A few months later, Bill showed up unexpectedly, his tone hesitant. I was in the garden with Diana, sipping wine and basking in the late afternoon sun. I set my glass down and raised an eyebrow, and Bill let out a long sigh. “He’s in bad shape. He keeps calling your name. Do you want to go see him?” I wasn’t particularly inclined to visit, but Diana clapped

her hands together in excitement. “Oh! Tomas is in the hospital, too! Come on, let’s go! Sounds like it’ll be fun!” And so we went. Diana headed to the burn unit while I walked into the orthopedic ward. George was in rough shape, his leg in a cast, arm in a sling. The moment he saw me, his eyes widened, filling with something that almost looked like relief. “Esther,” he groaned weakly, reaching out a trembling hand. “It hurts. Do you remember your beef stew? I’ve been craving it.” I took a step back, smirking coldly. “Oh, George,” I said,

my voice laced with mock sympathy. “You know, I’ve been reading a lot of books lately—mostly by younger authors—and there’s a phrase that’s stuck with me: Karma will always find your address.” He blinked, confused. I leaned in slightly. “So you better behave, George, or Karma might just find you sooner than you think.” I turned and walked out of the room, realizing I’d left my phone inside. I went back only to stumble upon a heated argument in the hospital room. “I stuck with him all these years through thick and thin! He didn’t want me when he was

young, but now that I finally got him, you people just want to cut me out!” Bianca’s voice was shrill, on the verge of hysteria. “Bianca, ma’am,” Martha replied with carefully measured patience, “that house was signed over to us before you two got married. There’s no way your name can be added.” I arched an eyebrow. So George really did leave everything to the kids and Bianca? He ended up with nothing. “Then what does he have left?” Bianca’s voice trembled with panic. “What about his pension? He promised to take care of me!” “Oh, his pension?” Bill let

out a dry chuckle. “Dad handed over that account to us ages ago. We set it aside for the grandkids’ education fund.” He smiled, polite but pointed. “But don’t worry, you said you cared about him, not his money. The house is gone, the savings are gone, but you still have him. We fully support your relationship. You two should cherish each other.” Bianca was stunned silent, her face drained of color. I shook my head with amusement and turned to leave, just as Diana returned from the burn unit. “How’s Tomas?” I asked. “Oh, don’t even get me started,”

she rolled her eyes dramatically. “No one’s taking care of him anymore, so he had to cook for himself. Set the damn kitchen on fire! Burned himself pretty bad; his whole side looks awful.” Back at home, life returned to our blissful routine until Martha stopped by a few days later with some juicy gossip. Apparently, George had meticulously planned his financial moves before the divorce. First, he transferred the properties to the kids to finalize the split. Then, hoping to marry Bianca, he officially signed over the house to Bill and handed over his pension to the family trust.

“He must have really loved her,” Diana teased. “Not at all,” I chuckled. “George isn’t stupid; he never planned to give her a dime. He just wanted a free nurse. Bianca’s in a bad spot,” I added after a pause. Ended up with nothing—no assets, no security—just an aging George who now required full-time care. Bill and Martha, meanwhile, hired a housekeeper, freeing up their time. Martha often stopped by just to spill more stories about George and Bianca. "They fight constantly," she said, shaking her head. "Dad has these outbursts, and Bianca yells back. He gets so worked up

he ends up having episodes. We've had to call an ambulance multiple times. At first, we thought letting them be together would be convenient; she was a nurse, right? Made sense for her to take care of Dad—saved us the trouble. But she wanted more," Martha continued with a smirk. "Thought she could get a house out of it, but she has no kids. Why would she get a house? Lucky we planned ahead," she laughed. "They're stuck. She can't stand him, but she can't leave, and honestly, we're just enjoying the show." Martha glanced at her watch. "All right,

I have to go pick up the kids. Talk next week, okay?" I smiled. "I won't be home next week, or the next month, for that matter. Don't drop by and find an empty house." She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Where are you going?" "Diana and I are taking a cruise to Antarctica." Martha blinked, then shook her head with a soft laugh. "You know, Esther, sometimes I really envy your life." A week later, Diana and I stepped onto the grand ship, the deck stretching before us under the wide open sky. "Wow, this thing is huge, and it

barely moves at all!" Diana twirled around excitedly. "Do you think we'll see penguins?" "Of course," I leaned against the railing, gazing out at the icy horizon. "Not just penguins—auroras, endless glaciers, an entire world of snow and silence." She turned to me, grinning. "You know, Diana and Esther sounds like a great duo name. What do you think?" I laughed, raising my champagne glass to hers. His life was long, and our adventure was just beginning.