And when the mediator slid the document to my side of the table, I picked up the pen and looked, for one long moment, at seven years of my life reduced to a signature line: the endless nights balancing his ledgers, the sold car, the mortgaged condo, all of our history, waiting to be closed with a single stroke of ink.

I signed my name, firmly, and ended the marriage.

And as we filed out, I heard Beatrice’s voice ring triumphantly down the corridor: “Don’t look so glum, son!

A brilliant CEO like you will have women lining up around the block.

Your real life starts today!” She was right about one thing, at least.

His real life was about to start.

It would look nothing like the one she imagined.