For years, I believed I had it all—a career, a loving marriage, and a child. Then menopause hit, and suddenly I felt like a stranger in my own skin. The hot flashes, the mood swings, the weight gain—it was like my body had betrayed me. I tried to laugh it off, but deep down, I was crumbling.
Instead of support, my husband grew distant. One night, after a silly argument, he looked at me coldly and said: “I’m not attracted to you anymore. I want a divorce.” The words stung, not just for their cruelty but for how casually he tossed me aside.
But I didn’t break. I smiled and said, “Okay.” That same night, I quietly woke our teenage son and told him to pack a bag. We left for my sister’s house. I needed space—but not to wallow. I was planning.
If my husband thought menopause made me weaker, he was wrong. It sparked a fire I didn’t know I still had. And soon, he’ll learn that dismissing me was the biggest mistake of his life.
