Exposed — and Finally Free
When Alan came back from his trip and found Stacey gone, he exploded.
He showed up at her new place, pounding on the door, demanding answers. She called the police. He left before they arrived — still arrogant enough to think he could talk his way out of anything.
He was wrong.
Stacey filed for divorce.
I reopened my custody arrangement, armed with the journals, photos, and testimonies.
Alan tried every tactic he knew — pleading texts, threats, emotional manipulation — but this time, I blocked him, literally and emotionally.
In court, his charm didn’t stand a chance against hard evidence. The wardrobe, the records, the women — all of it painted the picture of a man who treated relationships like a twisted game.
After the dust settled, Stacey and I found ourselves sitting in my living room again. Only this time, the air felt… lighter.
“We made it through,” I said quietly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For helping me. For believing me. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
I looked at her for a long moment. The anger I’d carried for so long had burned itself out.
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