Golden light filtered through gauzy curtains, catching dust motes that spun lazily in the warm air. I stared at the photo on the wall—Flynn and me on our wedding day. His arm wrapped securely around my waist, his smile so genuine it seemed impossible to imagine a time when that warmth could fade. We had been partners for almost five years, a team that had built routines, inside jokes, and a life I thought would stretch endlessly forward.

Flynn had been my anchor: late-night laughter in our tiny apartment, whispered plans in the dark, long Sunday walks where he’d steal kisses like we were teenagers again. I thought I knew every shade of his love. But that night, the man who had promised me forever looked at me like a stranger.

“Nova,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes, “I think I want a divorce.”

The words shattered the quiet like a glass dropped on tile. Continues…