I had printed it and then, out of some worn-out sense of duty and a fear of embarrassing my family, I had locked it away and kept enduring.

That cowardice had cost me a split lip and bruised ribs.

The document was not a threat anymore.

I want to be honest about that envelope, because it is the part of this story I am least proud of and the part I most want other people to hear.

I had known.

Six months before that afternoon — longer, if I am truthful — I had known exactly what my marriage was and exactly how it would end, because I had sat in a lawyer’s office and said it all out loud and signed my name to the ending.