A Year To Find Forever

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My husband, Ethan, had been by my side for ten years, treating me with unwavering devotion, a quiet chef supporting my empire. I was Jocelyn Anderson, COO of a hospitality giant, a Wharton graduate, and frankly, too busy to notice. I saw him as steady, uncomplicated-a strategic move to keep my family off my back, nothing more. Then, he served me divorce papers. Not with a shout, but with a flat, hollow voice that cut deeper than any anger. He'd found an old email, a careless confession I'd sent before our wedding: I' d called him "safe," a "placeholder." He was gone. His things vanished from our silent condo, his number blocked. My family sneered, relieved the "gold-digger" was gone. But for the first time, seeing his absence, hearing their cruel words, I felt a panic I couldn't explain. I saw the empty space he left, the quiet support I'd taken for granted. A friend' s blunt truth hit me: "You'll wear him out." And I had. He wasn't just a husband; he was the anchor I never knew I needed. Now, he was free, pursuing his dreams without me. The thought alone was a punch to the gut. I chased him across the country, from Wyoming to Seattle, desperate to apologize, to explain, to salvage what I finally realized was precious. But he was cold, detached, a stranger. "You're just not used to me being gone," he said. "This isn' t love, it' s habit." Then came his ultimate challenge: "Hike the Skyline Trail to Panorama Point in six hours. If you make it, we' ll talk." I stood at the mountain's base, in designer loafers and a business suit, facing the impossible. I accepted.

Divorce CEO Office romance Second chance Personal growth

Chapter 8

01-06 20:39

Introduction

My husband, Ethan, had been by my side for ten years, treating me with unwavering devotion, a quiet chef supporting my empire.

I was Jocelyn Anderson, COO of a hospitality giant, a Wharton graduate, and frankly, too busy to notice. I saw him as steady, uncomplicated-a strategic move to keep my family off my back, nothing more.

Then, he served me divorce papers. Not with a shout, but with a flat, hollow voice that cut deeper than any anger. He'd found an old email, a careless confession I'd sent before our wedding: I' d called him "safe," a "placeholder."

He was gone.

His things vanished from our silent condo, his number blocked. My family sneered, relieved the "gold-digger" was gone. But for the first time, seeing his absence, hearing their cruel words, I felt a panic I couldn't explain. I saw the empty space he left, the quiet support I'd taken for granted.

A friend' s blunt truth hit me: "You'll wear him out."

And I had. He wasn't just a husband; he was the anchor I never knew I needed. Now, he was free, pursuing his dreams without me. The thought alone was a punch to the gut.

I chased him across the country, from Wyoming to Seattle, desperate to apologize, to explain, to salvage what I finally realized was precious. But he was cold, detached, a stranger.

"You're just not used to me being gone," he said. "This isn' t love, it' s habit."

Then came his ultimate challenge: "Hike the Skyline Trail to Panorama Point in six hours.

If you make it, we' ll talk." I stood at the mountain's base, in designer loafers and a business suit, facing the impossible. I accepted.