“It was already too far the first time you decided I didn’t deserve the truth.”

He began to cry.

I remembered holding him when his father died, how helpless he’d felt, how grateful I’d been that he trusted me with grief.

I couldn’t switch off tenderness just because trust had collapsed.

But I could refuse to let tenderness decide for me.

“I don’t want revenge,” I told him.

“I want a divorce and an honest accounting.”

He looked stunned, as if he’d expected anger that could be soothed instead of a decision that had already been made.