I cried when I took my husband to the airport in New Delhi because he was “leaving for two years to Toronto”… but when I returned home, I transferred $650,000 to my personal account and filed for divorce.

On the fifth day, he received the official divorce notice.

He called me furious.

“What is this, Sarah?”

“It’s the consequence of your decisions.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing. I know about the apartment in Gurugram. I know about Erica. I know about the baby.”

Silence.

“I was going to explain…”

“I didn’t need an explanation. I needed respect.”

I hung up.

I decided to meet Erica.

We met at a quiet café in Hauz Khas Village.

She was young. Elegant. Visibly pregnant.

“He told me you’d been separated for years,” she murmured.

“That’s not true.”

Her expression shifted.
Confusion.
Pain.
Embarrassment.

In that moment I realized she didn’t know the full story either.

“I didn’t come to fight,” I told her. “I just wanted you to know the truth.”