At The Baby Shower, Someone Asked When We’d Start A Family…

“Why are you saying this here?”

I say:

“Because every time I try to talk to you in private you act like it’s not a big deal. So now you can deal with it in front of everyone, just like you humiliated me in front of everyone else.”

Reagan starts to stand up and says:

“You don’t get to come in here and act like you’re the victim, Gemma.”

I say:

“Then stop acting like I’m the villain just because I won’t laugh at your jokes.”

She starts to move around the table toward me, but Meline stands up too, blocking her. Reagan mutters something about crazy bitches.,

Meline just tells her to sit down. Randall’s mom says:

“This is enough. You’re tearing this family apart.”

I say:

“No, you are, by refusing to see what’s right in front of you. You want respect, but you don’t give any.”

I add:

“If you want me to apologize for leaving after being insulted, it’s not happening. I’m not sorry for refusing to be treated like garbage.”

I reach into my bag and pull out an envelope. I slide it across the table to Randall.

He looks at it confused. I say:

“Those are divorce papers. I just need you to sign.”

The silence is unreal. Reagan actually gasps.

Randall’s mom says:

“You can’t be serious.”

I say:

“I’m done and I’m not changing my mind.”

Randall tries to grab my arm as I stand up, but I shake him off. I say:

“Don’t touch me.”

He stands up and starts to raise his voice. He says:

“You’re throwing everything away over some jokes.”

I say:

“No, I’m throwing it away because you don’t respect me, and neither does your family.”

Reagan slams her hand on the table and says:,

“You’re just jealous because you’re not one of us.”

I laugh and say:

“Thank God for that.”

Meline puts her hand on my shoulder and we turn to leave. Randall follows us into the lobby.

He keeps saying:

“Let’s just talk. We can fix this, you don’t have to do this.”

I stop, turn around, and say:

“You had every chance to fix it. You chose to embarrass me instead. Now it’s your turn.”

As we walk out, Randall shouts after me:

“You’ll regret this, Gemma!”

I don’t even turn around. Meline opens the door for me and we walk out together.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I know I’m not backing down. I gave them every chance to treat me like a person and they failed every single time.

Final Notices and Divorce Cake

Now it’s my turn to walk away. I really thought after that dinner everything would just be done, but I guess nothing is ever just done when it comes to Randall’s family.

I’ve been sitting on this update for a few days because every time I think the dust has settled, someone finds a new way to be weird or petty. So here’s the final mess as promised.,

This is long and probably not the clean ending some people want, but that’s just life. After the restaurant showdown, I honestly thought Randall would just get the hint.

He didn’t. The man is persistent in that extremely annoying way where you realize this is why he’s always been the golden child; he just refuses to accept when he’s not winning.

The next morning I wake up at my parents’ house to a dozen missed calls from Randall, his mom, Reagan, and three random numbers. My dad is already up making coffee and just grunts when I come in.

I scroll through the messages. They are all some version of “please talk to me” or “you didn’t have to do that” or “let’s be reasonable.”

I mute my phone. My mom asks if I’m okay and I say:

“Yeah, just tired.”

She makes waffles. My plan that day is just to do nothing, but Randall’s mom has other ideas.

She texts my mom basically saying I’m destroying the family. She actually asks if my mom can talk some sense into me.,

My mom, to her credit, just says Gemma’s an adult and she’ll figure it out. I can tell she’s over the drama at this point.

The next day I start the process of moving my stuff out. I text Randall and tell him I’ll be by with my dad to get my things.

He says he’ll be out. I say:

“Good.”

When we get there, nothing has moved. My plants are dry, my mail’s piled up on the counter, and there’s a half-eaten pizza on the table. Classic.

I pack up my stuff and my dad hauls boxes. Neither of us talk much.

When we’re done, I leave the spare key on the counter and slam the door. Later, Randall texts me.

He says:

“You could have at least said goodbye.”

I don’t reply. I keep expecting Randall to try something big and dramatic, but honestly, he just sort of peters out.

A couple days go by with nothing. Then I get a message from his mom.

It’s three pages of her telling me I never understood family and that marriage is about forgiveness. She says:,

“I’m tearing Randall apart.”

I take a picture and send it to my sister. She replies:

“Frame it as a warning.”

Meanwhile, my own family is over it. My dad says I can stay as long as I want.

My mom is just happy I’m eating her food. My sister keeps sending me links to apartments.

The only real awkwardness is with a couple of mutual friends. One of Randall’s buddies texts me:

“Are you serious about this?”

I say:

“Yeah.”

He says:

“Wow, didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”

I don’t even know what to say to that, so I just leave him on read. Another friend asks if I want to talk about it, but I just say I’m good.

People always act like they want the tea, but really they just want to know which side to pick. The apartment search is not fun; I forgot how annoying it is to move.

Every place is either too small, too expensive, or just smells weird. I find one I like but it’s got a two-week wait, so I’m still at my parents’.

My mom keeps asking if I want to invite anyone over for dinner. My dad fixes a leaky faucet in the kitchen and jokes that at least I’m not married to the plumbing.,

About four days after the dinner, I get a text from Ariana. She says:

“Reagan is telling people you attacked her at the restaurant.”

I laugh. I text back:

“She wishes.”

Ariana says:

“I told her to grow up.”

I say:

“Thanks, you’re the only normal one.”

Then finally, a week to the day after the shower, Randall texts me from a random number. I’m picking up groceries for my mom, scrolling through my phone in the parking lot, and there it is:

“Please talk to me. I was just joking.”

I don’t even get mad. I just screenshot it and send it to my sister and Meline.

Meline replies:

“He’s really still on that.”

My sister says:

“Send him a clown emoji.”

I think about ignoring it, but honestly, I want to make it clear. So I reply:

“So was I. I was just pretending to be your wife.”

I don’t get a reply. I block the number.

Randall never shows up at my parents’ house, which is honestly a relief. I hear from a mutual friend that he’s crashing at his mom’s for now, and apparently she’s not exactly thrilled about it.,

I guess the golden child treatment has limits. I don’t really care what happens with him; I just want to get my new place, get my plants back in order, and go back to being boring.

The only drama left is the paperwork. I file the papers myself, pay the stupid fee, and get the confirmation email.

I tell my mom and she hugs me longer than usual. My sister makes a cake that says “Congratulations on your divorce” in pink icing.

I laugh so hard I almost drop it. Randall will probably always think he’s the victim.

His mom will probably keep telling people I was difficult and Reagan will keep posting memes until the day she dies. But honestly, I don’t care.

I stood up for myself. I got out.

Thanks to everyone who actually read these long rants and didn’t tell me to just be the bigger person. Sometimes you just got to be done.

Anyway, I’m off to water my sad plants, eat divorce cake, and maybe scroll apartments until I find one that doesn’t have weird carpet or neighbors who play the recorder at midnight. Peace out, Reddit.,