What’s the Biggest Mistake You’ve Ever Made?

When the divorce proceedings started, things got even worse. She was vile, and I saw a side of her I didn’t think was possible. We had agreed to try and handle things through mediation, but every meeting turned into a shouting match.

She would show up late, looking disheveled and angry. She would interrupt me, call me names, and accuse me of being abusive, of cheating, of every horrible thing you could imagine.

At one point during a particularly nasty meeting, she leaned over the table and said loud enough for everyone to hear.,

she said “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about that vacation we took to Mexico. Do you remember that night when you got drunk and hit me?”

I was stunned; I had never laid a hand on her.

I said my voice shaking “What the hell are you talking about, Amanda?” she said “Oh, you don’t remember? How convenient.”

She turned to the mediator and smiled sweetly.

she said “He has a history of violence. I’m just saying I don’t feel safe.”

The mediator looked uncomfortable, and I felt like I was in a nightmare. She was lying, outright lying, and there was nothing I could do to prove otherwise.

I knew then that she was going to drag this out, make it as painful as possible. It wasn’t about the money or the apartment or anything else; it was about control. She couldn’t stand that I had taken any of it back.

The worst part was when she started showing up at my job. I work at a hospital and she would come in pretending to be a patient, making a scene in the waiting room until security had to escort her out.,

She called my boss, telling him I was mentally unstable, that I had been abusing drugs, that I was a danger to my patients. None of it was true, but it was humiliating and I could tell people were starting to talk.

My boss called me in one day, concerned. He was kind about it, but he said I needed to get things under control. I knew he was right.

The final straw came after the divorce was finalized. I thought things would calm down once the papers were signed, but I was wrong again. One night I came home late and found her car parked outside my building.

She was just sitting there staring up at my window. I tried to ignore it, went inside and shut the blinds, but it kept happening every night. She would be there, just sitting in her car watching.

Then one night I came home and she wasn’t in her car. I felt a weird sense of relief; maybe she had finally given up. But when I opened my door, I found her sitting on my couch.

I froze; I had no idea how she had gotten in., My heart was pounding in my chest.

I demanded “What are you doing here?”

She stood up, a slow eerie smile spreading across her face.

she said “I still have a key, remember?”

I had forgotten to change the locks—stupid. I backed up towards the door, ready to call the police.

I said trying to sound firm “Get out.” she just laughed “Oh, come on, you don’t mean that. We’re meant to be together, you know that. You can’t just run away from me.” I said “I’m serious, Amanda. Get out or I’m calling the cops.”

She shrugged, then walked past me, her shoulder brushing mine as she went to the door.

she said “Fine, I’ll go. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

I watched her leave, my hands shaking. I called the locksmith that night and changed the locks. The next morning, I went to the courthouse and filed for a restraining order.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t live my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for her to show up and ruin everything again. The process was long and draining.

I had to document everything: every phone call, every visit, every time she showed up at my job., When we finally went to court, she sat there acting like the victim, crying and saying she just wanted to work things out.

But the judge saw through it. The order was granted and she was barred from coming near me, my home, or my work. I thought that would be the end of it, but even now, I still see her car sometimes parked down the street from my building or outside my office.

She’s careful not to get too close, not to break the restraining order, but I know she’s still watching, waiting. It’s a constant nagging presence in the back of my mind, and I hate it.

I hate that she still has this hold on me even after everything, but I’m trying to move on. I’ve started going out again, seeing friends, trying to rebuild my life. It’s not easy, and some days it feels like I’m just going through the motions, but I’m free.

And that’s something I just have to keep reminding myself of. That I’m free.