I never believed my miserable marriage would actually last forever. I also couldn’t imagine how it would end. That is — until it did.

It was May 24, 2006. I spent the evening with old friends.

My cheating husband worked late and then had dinner at a coworker’s house (or so he said).

When 11 pm rolled around and there was no sign of him, I worried and called to see where he was. He told me he couldn’t talk. He said he was on his way, and his mother was on the other line. Feeling relieved, I hung up the phone and got in bed.

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When he arrived, he came into our room and firmly said those words, “I think we should separate.”

My initial reaction was confusion, immediately accompanied by anger. He told me that he had discussed our situation with his parents. He said his mom thought it was a good idea. 

Quickly, my emotion gauge rocketed from angry to livid. “You discussed our separation with your mother before you talked to me about it?!” How could I have been left so far out of the loop regarding my own marriage?

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I stomped across the room to my dresser, pulled off my rings, and put them in my jewelry box. It was an act I’d never performed, despite years of screaming matches that ended with me driving away in the middle of the night. I continued to rage while my husband remained perfectly calm. When I could no longer stand the sight of him, I stormed out of the bedroom and down the hall to our office. He followed me.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he asked from the doorway. “Don’t you hate me anyway?”

It was then that the light bulb went off in my head and I knew that what I was facing was a glorious opportunity.

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Yes, this is what I want. I am going to file for divorce.

Slowly, I found the words to tell him he was correct. I wasn’t happy in the marriage. I did want to separate. At that moment, the chains that had bound me to such a depressing existence began to melt away. 

Two weeks later I met the Other Woman. Indeed, she was the person on the phone that night. She was the one who pushed for our separation. I’m proud to say that I maintained my composure long enough to shake her hand. I didn’t fall apart until I was a half-mile away.

After twenty minutes of crying and a half-hour long make-out session with an old fling, I overcame the shock of betrayal and trudged ahead on the path to Freedom.

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In the four years since my divorce, I’ve shortened my commute to work, completed my bachelor’s degree, and started writing again. These days, I cook and clean on my own schedule. I no longer concoct excuses to avoid sex. In hindsight, it’s tough to feel anything but gratitude for my ex-husband and his mistress. If not for them, I wouldn’t be who I am now. And I am, without a doubt, loving my divorced life.

No shame. No regrets. No apologies.

Written by Tara Eisenhard for Divorced Women Online.