Part 4 The divorce was brutal, but I didn’t fight alone.
Part 4
The divorce was brutal, but I didn’t fight alone.
Caroline was with me every step. Megan, my old coworker, became my rock. And Ethan — my brave, broken son — stood beside me in court, holding the evidence that would set us free.
Richard tried to fight.
He claimed I was unstable.
He claimed the affair was “complicated.”
He even tried to say the twins weren’t his responsibility.
The judge didn’t agree.
I kept the house.
I kept the majority of our assets.
I was granted temporary custody of the twins, with Hannah’s blessing.
Richard was ordered to pay child support and alimony.
He lost his job two months later when the scandal leaked to his company.
Diane left him when the money stopped flowing.
Last I heard, he was living in a small studio apartment, working a job far below the one he once bragged about.
I didn’t feel joy in his suffering.
I felt free.
The first time the twins called me “Grandma,” I cried in the kitchen for twenty minutes.
Emily — no, Ethan — hugged me from behind.
“You earned that name,” he whispered.
Six months after Richard left, Ethan and Hannah got married in a small backyard ceremony.
It wasn’t fancy.
It was perfect.
Lily and Rose toddled down the aisle in tiny white dresses, throwing flower petals.
I walked Hannah down the aisle.
When the officiant asked who gave her away, I said, “Her mother and I do.”
Hannah cried.
So did I.
