On my thirtieth birthday, my mother-in-law raised a toast with the words: «To our silly girl from a poor family who lives off our money», and my husband started laughing loudly at that. Then my father stood up from the table and did something that made my mother-in-law freeze in place…

«Come home at seven.» «Okay, I’ll be there.» All day I prepared for this conversation.

Walked around the apartment, mentally playing different scenarios. Deep down, I already knew what I’d decided, but admitting it to myself was scary. At exactly seven, the doorbell rang.

Kyle stood on the threshold with a bouquet of my favorite lilies. «Hi,» he said, handing the flowers. «May I come in?» «Of course,» I took the bouquet.

«This is your home too.» «Our home,» he corrected, entering the living room. We sat in armchairs facing each other.

Kyle looked tense but determined. «How’s your father?» he asked. «Good.»

«Recovering faster than doctors expected.» «Glad to hear. Send him my regards.»

I nodded. We fell silent again. Finally, I resolved.

Kyle, I’ve thought a lot about us, our marriage, what happened at my birthday, and after. He leaned forward, listening attentively. I’ve come to the conclusion we can’t continue living like before.

Too much has changed. I understand, he nodded. I think so too.

We need to start over. Start over? Yes. Without my parents’ influence, without their money, without their expectations.

Just you and me, like in the beginning. I shook my head. Kyle, you don’t understand.

It’s not just about your parents. It’s about us. About what we’ve become.

We can change, Paula. I’m already changing. Changing? In two weeks? After eight years of marriage where you let your mother humiliate me and my family? He lowered his head.

I know I deserve your anger. But I’m asking for one thing – give me a chance to prove I can be different. I looked at him: the man I once loved more than life.

Whom I trusted, with whom I dreamed of growing old. And realized I no longer felt anything for him but weary pity. Sorry, Kyle, but I can’t.

I don’t love you anymore. And I’m not sure I could ever love again after everything that’s happened. He paled.

You, you want a divorce? Yes, I want a divorce. Kyle leaned back in the chair as if slapped. Paula, please, think again.

Don’t make hasty decisions. This isn’t hasty. I’ve been thinking about it all these last days.

And realized I deserve more. Deserve a person who will respect me and my family. Who won’t laugh when his mother calls me a silly girl from a poor family.

He flinched as if from a slap. I know I acted horribly, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But does one mistake erase eight years together? It’s not one mistake, Kyle.

It’s years of neglect, years when you put your mother’s wishes above mine. Years when you lied to me about your work, your successes, your independence. You know; he looked struck.

Yes, I know. Know you get money from your father, not earn it yourself. Know all your projects are dummies.

Know our apartment isn’t a gift from your parents but an investment I have to repay in case of divorce. Kyle was silent, staring at the floor. Who told you? No one.

I found out myself; accidentally saw documents on your computer. When? Six months ago. He raised his head; surprise in his eyes.

And you were silent all this time? Yes, silent; observed, tried to understand if you love me at all, or if I’m just a convenient appendage to the Harrington name. I loved you, Paula, I swear, loved. Maybe, but not the way I deserve.

We fell silent again. Kyle looked broken, lost. But I couldn’t allow myself pity.

Not now, when I’d finally resolved to change my life. What now? He asked quietly. I’m filing for divorce.

I hope you won’t complicate the process. And the apartment? I know about the documents I signed. That I have to pay the full cost in case of divorce.

I’m ready for that. Kyle looked at me in surprise. But where will you get that money? I don’t have it.

But I can sell the apartment and pay your parents their share. And where will you go? I don’t know. Rent a place until I figure it out.

Kyle suddenly stood and started pacing the room. No, he said resolutely; I won’t allow it. What do you mean? I won’t take a penny from you for the apartment.

Moreover, I’ll transfer it fully to you. I looked at him distrustfully. Why? Because it’s right.

Because I want to do at least something right. And your parents; will they agree? It’s not their business. The apartment is formally yours, and I won’t use the power of attorney for sale.

I didn’t know what to say. This gesture seemed so uncharacteristic of the Kyle I knew. Thank you, I said finally.

That’s noble of you. He smiled bitterly. Don’t thank me.

It’s the least I can do after everything. Kyle went to the window, looking at the street. You know, he said without turning, I always thought happiness was money, status, power; what my parents taught me.

But it turned out happiness is when there’s a person nearby who loves the real you, not your wallet or last name. I was silent, surprised by his words. I realized it too late, he continued; when I already lost you.

Kyle. No, no consolations; he turned to me. I deserved it, and I respect your decision.

Tomorrow I’ll send my lawyer with documents transferring the apartment fully to you. And now, I think I’ll go. He headed to the door; I didn’t stop him.

In my soul was a strange mix of relief and sadness, as if I’d said goodbye to a part of myself that had hurt for a long time and finally died. Goodbye, Paula, Kyle said, turning at the threshold. Be happy.

The door closed, and I was left alone in the apartment that was now only mine. A strange feeling of freedom enveloped me, as if I’d dropped a heavy load I’d carried all these years. I went to the window and saw Kyle getting into his car.

He didn’t look back, didn’t wave goodbye; just drove out of my home, out of my life. The next day, as promised, Kyle sent a lawyer with documents. The apartment now fully belonged to me, without any obligations to the Harrington family.

I expected an angry call from Valerie, with accusations and threats. But the phone was silent. Later, I learned from mutual acquaintances that after the incident at my birthday, Victor had a serious talk with his wife.

For the first time in their marriage, he put her in her place, forbidding her to interfere in his son’s life and relationships. The divorce went quickly and without complications; Kyle didn’t contest any of my demands, didn’t make counterclaims. It seemed he really wanted to atone for his guilt by making the process as easy as possible for me.

My parents returned from New York a month later. Dad looked much better, though still weak after surgery. They stayed with me in the apartment; there was enough space.

«How are you, daughter?» Dad asked when we were alone. «Good, Dad; really good. No regrets about the divorce?» I thought.

No, no regrets. It was the right decision. And Kyle? He changed, became a different person, but too late for us.

Dad nodded, asking no more questions. He always respected my decisions, even if not fully agreeing with them. Life gradually entered a new groove.

I returned to journalism, got a job at a small publication where they valued my experience and enthusiasm. My parents decided to move to our city; after the factory closed, nothing held them there, and they wanted to be near me. We found them a small but cozy apartment not far from mine.

We often gathered, had dinners, talked. I felt I’d finally found my true self, unbound by the Harrington family’s expectations. I hadn’t seen Kyle since the divorce.

Sometimes I heard about him from mutual acquaintances; they said he went abroad, studying at a business school, trying to start his own business not connected to his father’s company. Victor sometimes called to check on Dad’s health, offer help. Strangely, after all these events, almost friendly relations established between us…