I pushed open the heavy glass door, the golden script of “Bliss & Bloom Spa” catching the light above me. It had been three months since I’d last been here—three months of court dates, late-night arguments over text, and the hollow ache of signing divorce papers. My ex-husband had started calling again, leaving voicemails about how he missed me, how we could try again. I knew better. He missed the life I’d built without him, the promotions, the money. I was done caring.

Today was ...