“Sarah, it’s me,” James’s voice crackled through the phone. “I’m at the airport. Things got a bit delayed, and I’ll call you as soon as I settle in.”
I almost laughed at the audacity of his lie. He was probably already sitting comfortably in the luxury apartment in Gurugram, the one meant for him and Erica. I kept my voice steady. “Take care, James. Call whenever you can.”
Hanging up, I felt a strange sense of relief. The decision to protect myself had been made, and there was no looking back. The divorce papers were in motion, and I had secured my inheritance. I wasn’t the woman he thought he had fooled.
The next few days passed in a haze of legal appointments and quiet reflection. I met with my lawyer, who assured me that the divorce proceedings would be straightforward. “Given the circumstances, he won’t have much ground to stand on,” she said confidently.
Meanwhile, I kept a low profile. I didn’t want to alert James to the fact that I knew his secret. As far as he was concerned, I was still the trusting wife, clueless about the web he had spun.
One evening, as I sat in our once-shared living room, I scrolled through old photos on my phone. Pictures of vacations, smiling faces, dreams that now felt like illusions. But instead of feeling sad, I felt empowered. Each image reminded me of how far I had come and the strength it took to reclaim my life.
I spent time with friends and family, surrounding myself with people who truly cared. They were my support system, reminding me of my worth and encouraging me to look forward to a brighter future.
Days turned into weeks. I heard from James sporadically through vague, hollow messages. He was still playing his part, completely unaware that I had already moved on, emotionally and financially.
