So, that's it. That's it. How do you feel? I looked around my apartment. It feels quiet.
Good. Quiet? I thought for a moment. Yeah. He laughed.
Are you going to date again? Eventually, you should take another trip first. I smiled. Maybe I will. That weekend, I booked a flight, not to Santorini, somewhere completely different.
I wanted to travel without checking another person's phone, without wondering who was calling, without questioning whether the person beside me was telling the truth. I wasn't trying to prove anything to Catherine. I wasn't trying to make her jealous. I just wanted to enjoy my own life again. And for the first time in months, I could.
Catherine had lost our marriage. She had lost Richard, too. But I didn't see that as my victory. My victory was leaving before I spent years trying to repair something she had already chosen to destroy. A few weeks later, I took the trip I had mentioned to Caleb.
I traveled alone. There was no honeymoon itinerary, no reservations made for two, no wife beside me. I chose everything myself. Where I stayed, where I ate, where I went next. It felt strange at first.
Then it felt normal. One evening, I sat outside a small restaurant watching the sunset. I thought about Santorini. Six days into my marriage, I had believed I was looking at the beginning of my life with Catherine. Instead, I was watching the beginning of its end.
The hardest part wasn't discovering Richard. It wasn't even hearing Catherine admit that she had slept with him. It was realizing that she had been making decisions long before I knew there was a problem. She had talked to Richard before our wedding. She knew he was coming to the same resort.
She met him while we were supposed to be celebrating our marriage. Then she lied to my face. That wasn't one mistake. It was a series of choices. And once I understood that, there was nothing left for me to fix.
I remembered the morning I left. Catherine had stood in our hotel room holding her wedding ring, asking me not to leave her. At the time, I knew walking out would change everything. It did. But I also knew staying would mean negotiating against myself.
I would have spent months asking questions. She should have answered without being forced. I would have wondered whether she was telling the truth. I would have watched her phone. I would have questioned every late night and every unexplained call.
That wasn't the marriage I wanted. So, I took the next flight home. People sometimes think walking away means you didn't care. For me, it meant the opposite. I cared enough about my future not to destroy it, trying to save a marriage that had already been betrayed.
A year after the divorce, Caleb asked me whether I had heard from Catherine. Not recently, I said. Do you ever wonder what she's doing? Sometimes. Do you regret leaving?
I thought about that. No. He nodded. Good. I looked out at the road ahead.
There was no dramatic ending, no final confrontation, no moment where Catherine suddenly understood everything she had done. Real life wasn't like that. She made her choices. I made mine. And eventually we both had to live with them.
I never went back to Santorini. Maybe someday I will, but if I do, it won't be because I want to remember Catherine. I'll go because it's a beautiful place and I won't let one person's betrayal own a place on a map for the rest of my life. Catherine thought I was throwing our marriage away when I walked out of that hotel. She was wrong.
I wasn't throwing anything away. I was accepting that it was already gone. And the next flight home wasn't just a flight. It was the moment I stopped begging reality to be different. I left my wife in Santorini.
I left the lies behind. And when I finally landed back home, I started building a life that didn't require me to question whether the person beside me deserved my trust. That was the real ending. Not revenge, not Richard, not Catherine, just me. Finally choosing to walk away from a marriage that had ended before I ever boarded that plane.