Blindside of epic proportions

 

Twelve years. Twelve whole years of shared laughter, love, and the quiet understanding that comes with time. And yet, here she was—discarded like a relic of the past, a placeholder for someone new, someone shiny, someone who hadn’t yet borne witness to his faults.

The blow came swift and merciless, a blindside of epic proportions, as if those years meant nothing at all. No warning. No preparation. Just the cold, cruel realization that she had become an inconvenience in her own home.

And what was left? No family to lean on, no children to remind her that she mattered, no financial cushion to soften the fall. Just a UIF check that barely covers survival, and a growing pile of possessions—each one eyed not for sentiment, but for sale. Because survival demanded sacrifice, and sentimentality was a luxury she could no longer afford.

Meanwhile, her soon-to-be ex moved with calculated efficiency, eager to shove her out the door so his new conquest could take her place. As if the house itself had been waiting for a fresh occupant, a warmer, more desirable tenant unburdened by the baggage of twelve years.

And she? She packed her life into boxes, sold off remnants of her history, and braced herself for the next chapter one she never asked for, never imagined, and never wanted.

The only question that remained: Where does she go from here?
Or more importantly, how does she make sure she rises from this?
Because something tells me she’s got more strength in her than she realizes.

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