Page 62 of The Humiliated Wife

you're braver than you know

left my ex last year, still eating ramen but sleeping so much better

this hit me right in the heart

Fiona set the phone aside and looked around Emma's guest room. The mismatched furniture, the faded quilt, the stack of library books on the nightstand. It wasn't much. But it was honest.

Her phone buzzed again. Another comment.

thank you for being real about this. starting over at 35 and terrified but your posts help

She wasn't just healing herself. She was accidentally helping other people heal too.

That felt like something worth building on.

CHAPTER 26

Dean

He'd been refreshing@missfionasays obsessively for three days now. Not commenting—Christ, he wasn't that pathetic—but checking. Always checking. Like somehow her posts could tell him if she was okay, if she was eating enough, if she was warm at night in Emma's guest room.

Her latest post had gone up an hour ago, and he'd already read it seventeen times.

Sometimes starting over means looking at spreadsheets at 6 AM and realizing you've been living someone else's life for so long you forgot what yours costs.

She was doing spreadsheets at 6 AM. Alone. Calculating rent and groceries and all the things he should have been helping her with. All the things he'd taken care of without thinking, back when she'd been his to take care of.

I'm learning how much things actually cost. Not just rent and groceries, but independence. Dignity. The right to be yourself without wondering if someone's taking notes for later.

That was him. He was the someone. He was the reason she had to wonder, had to second-guess every moment.

He scrolled through the comments. Strangers telling his wife she was brave. Strangers offering support and solidarity. Strangers giving her what he should have given her all along.

you're braver than you know

She was. God, she was so much braver than he'd ever been. Here she was, rebuilding her entire life from scratch, sharing her struggles with the world, helping other people while she was barely keeping herself afloat.

Dean's chest tightened. She was helping people. Even now, even while she was scared and struggling and eating peanut butter for dinner—fuck, was she really eating peanut butter for dinner?—she was still thinking about others. Still trying to make the world softer.

That was Fiona. That was the woman he'd married. The woman he'd lost.

He was so fucking proud of her.

And so completely, hopelessly, pathetically in love with the woman who didn't need him anymore.

The woman who was better off without him.

The woman who was finally, finally free.

Dean's laptopwas already open before he'd consciously decided to move. He logged into his account. The one that he’dconsidered both of theirs but had never bothered to put in her name.

His most recent paycheck sat there. Untouched. Bigger than usual because of the quarterly bonus.

Fiona's personal account information was saved in his contacts from years of birthday transfers and surprise deposits. Back when putting money in her account meant flowers or a weekend trip, not survival.

The transfer screen loaded. He typed in the amount without hesitation. All of it. Every penny from this month.

His finger hovered over the confirm button for exactly two seconds.