The affair wasn’t the only issue.
It was simply the thing that finally forced me to recognize everything else.
And once I saw it clearly, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
I wasn’t going to fight to rescue the marriage.
I was going to prepare myself to leave it.
Quietly, I contacted a divorce attorney.
A very good one.
I learned about my rights.
I learned about custody.
Our finances.
Shared assets.
What my position was as Sophie’s primary caregiver.
I collected financial records.
And because Elon had grown careless, I uncovered additional evidence.
Messages.
Receipts.
Enough to verify what I already knew.
I wasn’t looking for revenge.
I wanted protection.
For myself.
And for Sophie.
Then I remembered that our anniversary was approaching.
Sunday.
Originally, I had planned a small dinner.
Something sweet.
Something the old Grace would have organized while hoping that perhaps we could reconnect.
Instead, I changed those plans.
I called my parents.
My sister.
Elon’s parents.
His brother and sister-in-law.
I invited all of them to our house.
“Anniversary dinner,” I told them.
Elon seemed happy.
A little surprised.
But happy.
Sunday morning, I cooked.
Roast chicken.
Mashed potatoes.
