7 The Air Fryer, the Silence, and the Proof

While I was juggling mediation, legal filings, work schedules, and emotional fallout, he was fixated on the air fryer. Not the house. Not the pets. Not the people in it. The air fryer. And it wasn’t even a very good one.

After canceling his packing days multiple times, he finally committed to clearing out his things. But he didn’t come alone. He brought the same friend who had already made people deeply uncomfortable. Out of caution, I made sure no one else was home. Thankfully, one of my trusted relatives was able to stay with me.

They tore through the house like a clearance sale. Whatever they could get their hands on went into a trailer. Later, I learned the friend had been making threats before arriving, saying things like “If she says anything wrong, I’m going to go off on her.” What a display of immaturity. In person, he acted meek and polite.

Cowardice hiding behind tough talk. Birds of a feather, I guess.

At one point, I walked into the garage and noticed the security wires had been cleanly cut. The system was dead. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Something wasn’t right. When that feeling hits, you listen.

That afternoon, I had to leave for a bit. Life doesn’t pause for drama. I told him not to take anything else until I returned. He agreed.

When I got back, almost everything was gone. Even the pantry was stripped of all of the spices. He left behind the belongings of the others in the home, those weren’t his concern. No offer to help move them, no trailer offered, no hand extended. Just silence.

But at least he got the air fryer.

While packing, I found hidden liquor bottles and stale food stashed in corners and closets. It felt less like cleaning up for a move and more like signs of a life trying to cover its own mess. There were other discoveries too, but those can wait for another time. I didn’t even know what some of it meant. But I knew it wasn’t mine to carry anymore.

Next, he wanted to revise our established agreements. Not for the sake of those affected, but so he could go out more often with a friend. When I said no, he pouted. The pattern was familiar. If something wasn’t convenient for him, it became everyone else’s fault.

Some days I questioned myself. Not because I didn’t know the truth, but because gaslighting lingers. It makes you second-guess even the evidence in your hands. I’d replay the messages. Reread the documents. And still wonder if I was being too harsh.

That’s the toll of distortion. It isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet. Subtle. Internal.

Then came the next twist. He told others that I had taken a bunch of items from the house without telling him. That version was easier than admitting he had already cleared nearly everything out on his own. I kept the records. Not out of spite, but because I knew I had to.

This story doesn’t need fiction. Reality was already stranger than most people could believe.

Through it all, I kept my focus. Not because I wasn’t hurting, but because I refused to let the chaos turn me into someone else. Someone was watching how I carried this. I knew that. So, I stayed steady, even if it made me look like the villain for a while.

Then the final day came. The divorce papers were signed. The weight lifted.

I took myself out for a margarita. Alone. I needed a moment to myself. I sat in a little Mexican restaurant and let myself breathe.

And then I did what anyone would do.

I started shopping online for a new air fryer.

This is my personal account and reflection.