I broke my arm because my husband refused to shovel the snow. I warned him the steps were icy, begged him to salt them, and he ignored me. The next morning, I slipped, heard my arm crack, and ended up in the ER with a cast.
When I got home, he didn’t ask if I was okay—he complained that my injury was “bad timing” because I was supposed to host his birthday party. So I did handle it: I hired cleaners, ordered catering, and paid for everything myself. Then I had him served divorce papers in front of his guests.
I walked out of the party I paid for with a broken arm—and finally left the marriage that broke me.