"Beyond Divorce- A Journey to Self"

I decided to file for divorce the day my so-called “cool” mother-in-law said to me,

— “My son has a high-paying job now. If you leave, there’ll be a line of women waiting for him. But you? You’ll be the one with the stain.”

She was right, I guess. I came from a broken home, was nearing thirty, average-looking at best. Meanwhile, my husband, Adam, though weighing over 210 pounds and with fully gray hair, was still called “silver fox handsome.” And me? At 115 pounds, I was told, “You look so... womanly.”

I used to wonder—I **am* a woman, right? So what’s the problem if I look like one?*

Anyway, one morning, I went for a walk. Not just a walk—an escape.

At a nearby park, I saw a man Adam’s age, jogging with earbuds in. His body was toned, his face calm, glowing almost. I thought—This man looks happy. I want to ask him, how?

Before I knew it, I was standing next to him.

He noticed me and pulled out his earbuds.

— “Can I help you, ma’am?”

I snapped back to reality. “Sorry, I was a bit... lost in thought.”

He smiled. “Want some tea? That kid over there makes a killer cup.”

I looked over and saw a boy, maybe eleven, sitting with a thermos and paper cups. His smile was bright—like brewing tea was the happiest job on Earth.

I hesitated. “He makes good tea?”

“Got it from his dad,” the man replied. “He used to sell tea from a thermos too. Passed away a few years ago. Come on.”

Something about the man’s presence made me follow without thinking. I didn’t even ask why.

“So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I stay home,” I said. “People call me a housewife. The community calls me Adam’s wife. Adam calls me lazy. My mother-in-law calls me her son’s cook, his therapist, his maid, his nighttime entertainer. Basically, unpaid labor.”

He looked at me, surprised but not judging.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I talk too much.”

“I’m Sam,” he said with a grin. “I work for a corporate giant too—just another cog in the machine. You know what 'government' used to mean?”

He called to the boy, “Hey, Tony! Two teas please.”

Then turned back to me. “In the old days, local elites managing resources for kings were called ‘governments.’ Nowadays, it’s politicians. Either way, the job’s the same—serve the people. In truth, we’re all servants of one another.”

He laughed long and loud. I found myself smiling too.

The tea? It was perfect. Mildly sweet, sharp with ginger, cool with mint—was that... a pinch of salt? Who taught this kid to brew like that?

Sam smiled again. “Told you, Tony’s a pro. My wife Neera and I used to drink his dad’s tea every morning. She loved it.”

Used to?

“Your wife?” I asked cautiously. “Is she...?”

“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “She’s alive. We just... aren’t together anymore.”

I nodded and stood. “Thanks. For the tea.”

Back home, Adam was playing games on his phone. I asked what he wanted for breakfast. No reply. He probably didn’t hear me—or didn’t care.

I used to feel hurt. Now, I don’t.

One day, my best friend Maya came over. Beautiful, successful—but still single.

“Is there any salmon?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said.

“Good. But first, I want your perfect cup of tea.”

As we cooked together, we talked about everything. But before leaving, she quietly said,

— “You know Adam goes to those shady spas, right?”

I smiled. “I know. I found the receipts. He’s been going since before we were married. I even asked him once. He said it’s ‘normal for men in high positions.’ And now? I don’t even care.”

Maya stared. “You knew.”

I just nodded.

The next morning, I went to the park again. Sam saw me and grinned.

“Told you Tony’s biggest fan would come back!”

We shared tea, like usual. I asked,

— “So... men are now protesting ‘male abuse’? Wanting new laws?”

He sipped his tea. “It’s cute, isn’t it? As if only physical pain counts as real abuse. Women have suffered mentally forever. If emotional abuse were illegal, half the men I know would be behind bars.”

He paused. “Ever heard of ‘wife appreciation’? No? But you’ve heard of ‘husband pampering,’ haven’t you?”

I was stunned. A man saying this?

I found myself thinking about him too often. Twenty quiet minutes each morning gave me more peace than twenty months with Adam.

One day, I smiled and said,

— “I want to cook for you.”

He laughed. “I would’ve asked sooner. But a bachelor inviting a woman over… didn’t feel right.”

I went home that day and handed Adam the divorce papers.

— “You never made space for me. I’m leaving to make space for myself.”

He didn’t stop me. And I didn’t wait for him to.

### *Six Months Later*

I teach kids part-time and run a small online bakery. Maya is dating. Tony goes to school now—I pay his tuition when I can.

And Sam? We still meet at the park. We sip tea. We talk. But we’re not in love.

Not yet.

First, we’re learning to love ourselves.

Because now I know—

*Divorce isn’t the end. Sometimes, it’s the only real beginning.*