Three years later, I saw him and his partner sitting at a worn-down café. The once-perfect image they portrayed had faded; they looked tired and distant. When he saw me, he hurried over, apologizing and asking if he could reconnect with the children. His words were filled with regret, but I didn’t feel anger—just clarity. I had healed.

I calmly told him the children could choose whether to contact him, but my home was no longer open for him to return. As I walked away, I felt a gentle closure settle in my heart. It wasn’t his circumstances that brought me peace—it was recognizing how far I had come. My children and I had created a new life rooted in strength, and for the first time in years, I smiled with genuine contentment.