The perfect life can crumble in a second. Mine did the day I saw a photo of my husband kissing another woman on his phone.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” I asked, heart racing. He didn’t deny it. “She makes me happy,” he said coldly. I fainted from shock, tumbling down the stairs.

When I woke up paralyzed, he handed me divorce papers and walked out. Just like that.

Those days after the hospital were dark. I lay in a makeshift bed in the living room, hollow and hopeless. But Jake, our teenage son, kept me going. He cooked, cleaned, studied, and encouraged me back to life.

We started a small online antique business—our first sale felt like a miracle. In two years, it grew into a million-dollar success.

Then David returned, jobless and abandoned by the woman he left us for. He begged on his knees.

I listened. Then I stood—literally. Fueled by rage and strength I didn’t know I still had, I forced myself up.

“Get out,” I told him.

Jake watched, stunned. “You stood, Mom.”

I smiled through tears. “I guess I did.”

We had each other. And that was more than enough.