One of us would have to go.
Two people in any relationship was the norm.
Three was one too many.

Four times he cheated one me, I figured it was enough.

Five O’clock on Saturday morning when my cheating louse of a husband left to go play golf with his buddies, I left him.
I wrote him a note.
Six years of your cheating on me is more that any woman can take. Good bye.

Seven days later he called my cell phone. I didn’t answer. I didn’t call him back.

Eight years we knew each other. All the tears I had left were shed along the way. I could take no more from him.

Nine times out of ten the average woman would take back her cheating man. Not me. I was the tenth in that ratio.

Ten has always been my lucky number.