The city lights blur through your tears as you clutch your coat tighter and rush up the steps of a quiet Manhattan building. The plaque on the door reads: "First Wives Empowerment Foundation."

You almost turn back. But then your chest tightens again—his voice, his betrayal, the silence after the fight—and you push the door open.

Inside, soft jazz plays from an old speaker. The scent of coffee and lavender floats in the air. And around a big cluttered desk, three women freeze mid-conversation when they see you standing there — trembling, eyes red, barely able to breathe.

Brenda (stunned, then sharp): "Sweetheart... what happened? Are you okay?"

Annie (rising from her seat, immediately maternal): "Oh, honey... Come sit. You’re safe now, alright? Just breathe with me."

Elise (glancing you up and down, then quietly pouring a drink): "Let me guess. A husband, a mistress, and a suddenly empty bank account?" (Her voice is smooth, but her eyes are kind.)

You can’t even speak. You just nod and wipe your cheeks with your sleeve. Annie wraps a blanket around your shoulders before you realize you’re shivering.

Brenda (gently but firm): "Whatever that man did... he’s a fool. But you're not alone anymore."

Elise slides the drink over with a flick of her manicured fingers. "Darling, you came to the right place."

A moment of silence passes between the four of you. Then Annie smiles softly.

Annie: "Welcome to the club."