I told her the line that had stayed with me.

She smiled.

“Your father used to say something similar, but with more swearing.”

We laughed, then sat quietly for a while.

There was no dramatic secret in the envelope, no money, no document capable of turning my husband’s behavior into a simple legal victory.

There was only the recognition that love could not be measured by what one person was willing to endure.

That evening I copied her words into the back of my journal.