Two nights later it rained hard.
I went out on the balcony, watching the city disappear behind sheets of water.
The smell of wet earth rose up, mixing with the faint scent of her shampoo drifting from inside the apartment.
I stood there a long time, letting the rain soak my hoodie.
The rain felt cleaner than anything I had touched in weeks.
I thought about everything — the photos, the recordings, the lies.
I realized I wasn't just waiting for more proof anymore.
I was waiting for the right moment.
For the first time, I decided this wasn't about divorce.
It wasn't even about catching her red-handed.
It was about taking back control of my own story.
When I stepped back inside, dripping on the floor, I felt strangely calm.
Almost peaceful.
In that quiet moment I thought,
The clock has started ticking. She just doesn't hear it yet.