He didn’t even bother to ask.
One day, our home was ours. The next, it was gone. Just like that. No discussion. No warning.
He just went ahead and sold it, uprooting us from everything I knew.
I still remember the feeling in my chest when he told me. Like the floor had been ripped out from underneath me. I stared at him, waiting for some kind of explanation, some sign that this was a joke. But he just smiled, pleased with himself.
“It’s for the best.”
“You’ll love it.”
“It’s a fresh start.”
But it wasn’t.
We left behind my friends, my family—the people I relied on for support and love. The people who reminded me who I was, who made me feel like I mattered.
It hurt so much.
He called it our “new life,” but it didn’t feel like life at all. It felt like isolation. Like control.
Like he was tearing me away from everything that mattered.
And maybe that was the point.
It left me feeling lost and alone.
I had nobody else but him.
And he made sure I never forgot it.
