It started with small, deliberate steps to reclaim my space and my power. I threw out everything broken or not serving me—cracked mugs, faded towels, that tattered home robe I’d clung to like a security blanket. Out went the dollar-store phone case, replaced with a bold red-and-gold cover that screams confidence, like I’m running a boardroom, not a lonely life. I bought a red leather notepad, sleek and professional, and a set of golden pens that feel like they’re signing contracts for my future. I cleaned this house top to bottom, making it mine, not ours, tossing anything that felt like it belonged to the woman who let Étienne’s irritation define her. Every broken thing I threw out felt like shedding his hold on me.
I’m mirroring the women I admire on Instagram—fearless, creative CEOs of their own lives—and it’s waking me up. I’ve started sketching again, filling that red notepad with ideas, not just doodles, and it’s like I’m rediscovering the artist I buried when I moved here. Étienne’s noticed, of course. He saw the new phone case, the notepad, the way I carry myself now, and muttered something about me “acting different.” I didn’t respond, but inside, I was thinking, “Good.” His coldness, his jealousy, the way he’s pulled away while maybe chasing someone else—it’s losing its power over me. I’m not the woman who cries in her car anymore; I’m the one making decisions, setting terms.
This CEO mindset is clearing my head. I don’t want this life—sitting in a cold house, waiting for a man who’s irritated by my existence, who doesn’t see the woman I’m becoming. The astrologer was right: he’s a karmic lesson, not my forever. The signs—the song, the feather, 11:11—they’re all pointing to one truth: I deserve more. I want my passions back, my joy, a life where I’m not diminished. I’m 45, and starting over is daunting, but staying here, shrinking to fit Étienne’s world, is unthinkable. I’m not leaving yet, but every red-and-gold choice, every page I fill in that notepad, is a step toward a life that’s mine. I’m asking the angels—or maybe just my own fierce heart—for the courage to keep building, to walk away when I’m ready, and to never settle for less than I’m worth again.