“We are done!” I said to my husband of seven years.

We sat on the couch in the living room, sipping our morning coffee and watching the news. It was a beautiful summer morning—August 2, 2021—in a small town in Pennsylvania. The children still slept in their bedrooms located on the same floor, not aware of what was happening. I, dressed in my favorite comfy light-blue jeans and beige T-shirt, was ready to go to my office on the second floor of our house, to start a new workweek.

“What do you mean?” he asked, shocked.

“I cannot live like this anymore,” I said, sadness in my tone.

I didn’t plan to make any changes to my life that morning. It just happened. A simple question

—“How are you?”—opened a stream of emotions I did not expect. For months, with the help of a therapist, I had tried to discover the reason and understand my unhappiness with myself, my relationship, and life itself. I had thoughts of changing something in my life but didn’t know that August 2 would be that day.