I ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
It was Adrian.
“I heard you kept the condo.”
I stared at the screen.
Then another message.
“I guess you got what you wanted.”
I felt a small ache.
Because he still didn’t understand.
I’d never wanted to win the condo from him.
It had already belonged to me.
What I’d wanted was a marriage in which that fact didn’t make my husband feel diminished.
I wanted respect.
Partnership.
And a home where neither person needed to humiliate the other to feel important.
I looked at the message.
Then deleted it.
I didn’t need to explain anymore.
The following morning, I woke early.
Sunlight spilled across the bedroom floor.
The city was quiet.
I made coffee and carried it onto the balcony.
Below me, traffic moved slowly through the streets.
Office workers hurried toward trains.
Delivery trucks stopped beside cafés.
And the world continued as though nothing remarkable had happened on the twenty-ninth floor a year earlier.
