Painting My Freedom
Language: en
In the eighth year of our relationship, Cade Miller asked for a divorce. Or rather, he asked to end us. We weren't married—not legally—though for nearly a decade, I had been his wife in every way that mattered. I was in the kitchen, poaching eggs and browning sourdough when he said it. "Sienna, you’ve spent your best years on me. I don’t want you to waste any more of your life in my shadow." The smell of butter was suddenly nauseating. I didn’t turn around. "We’ve been together eight years," he continued, his voice as smooth and detached as if he were critiquing a canvas at a gallery…