I remember standing in that gas station lot, watching them from a distance. Michael’s shoulders were slumped, his voice sharp with irritation. Anna looked exhausted, juggling a crying toddler while he argued with the cashier about his declined card. There was no trace of the glamorous couple from the beach photos, no sparkle of the fantasy they’d abandoned me for. Instead, they looked like two people trapped in the consequences of their choices.

I didn’t approach them. I didn’t need to. My daughter was waiting in our car, giggling with Daniel as they picked a song on the radio. I turned away from the chaos, feeling an unexpected softness in my chest—not gloating, but closure. Losing my baby and my marriage nearly destroyed me, yet that pain cleared a path to a gentler life. In the end, the real victory wasn’t their downfall; it was my peace.