"She makes me feel alive again," he said, like he was auditioning for a breakup monologue.
Alive?
"We have six kids, Cole. What do you think this is, a coma?"
"You wouldn't understand," he said. "You don't see yourself anymore. You used to care about how you looked. How we looked."
I stared.
He kept going. "When was the last time you even put on real clothes? Or wore something that wasn't stained?"
"Turn everything into a list of sacrifices. Like I should be grateful you chose to be tired."
"I didn't choose to be tired, Cole. I chose you. And you made me a single parent without even bothering to close the fridge."
He opened his mouth like he was going to argue.
Then he closed it again. Picked up the bottle, and set it down.
"I'm leaving."
"When?"
"Now."
I laughed, short and mean. "You packed already?"
"I chose you."
His jaw tensed.
Of course he had. The clothes. The message. This wasn't spontaneous. It was planned.
"You were going to walk out," I said slowly, "without even saying goodbye to the kids?"
"They'll be fine. I'll send money."
My hand curled around the counter.
"Money," I repeated. "Rose is going to ask where her pancakes are tomorrow. You think a direct deposit's going to answer that?"
His jaw tensed.
He shook his head. "I'm not doing this."
He turned, heading upstairs.
I followed.
Because there was no way I was letting him ghost a whole family from a hallway.
Our bedroom door was open. His suitcase was already halfway zipped, clothes folded too neatly for someone just deciding to leave.
"You were never going to tell me, were you?" I asked.
"I'm not doing this."
"I was."
"When? After the hotel? After the pictures were posted?"
He didn't answer.
I stood in the doorway, shaking. "You could've just told me you were unhappy."
"I am telling you," he snapped. "I'm choosing my happiness."
"And what about ours?"
His back was turned, shoulders stiff.
"I can't do this with you, Paige," he said. "You make everything messy."
"I'm choosing my happiness."
I felt something snap inside me, like a rubber band that had been stretched too long.
"No, you made it messy when you decided to see someone else."
He said nothing. He just dragged the suitcase past me and out the door.
I didn't follow him, but I did walk to the window, watching his taillights disappear without slowing once.
Then I went downstairs and locked the door, letting the weight of everything he didn't say hit me all at once.
**
I didn't follow him.
"Okay," I whispered into my fist. "Okay. Breathe."
I stayed there, listening to the silence.
I cried until it felt like bruising from the inside out, but not just for me. It was for the questions that would come in the morning. For the kids asking questions I couldn't lie about, and couldn't fully explain without breaking something in them.
**
At six sharp, my youngest climbed into bed with me, dragging her blanket like a cape. She curled against me.
"Mommy," Rose mumbled. "Is Daddy making pancakes?"
My heart cracked wide open.
