I thanked her and left. I sat in my car in the parking lot for a long time, gripping the steering wheel. I couldn’t believe this was my life now. Filing for divorce. Splitting assets. Arranging custody. None of this had been in the plan.
When I got home, Kevin’s car was gone. So were the suitcases. He had left his house key on the kitchen counter with a note: I’m staying at Brandon’s. Please call me when you’re ready to talk.
I threw the note in the trash.
That afternoon, I picked up the kids from school. They asked where Daddy was. I told them he was on a business trip. It was easier than explaining the truth, at least for today.
At dinner, my daughter looked up from her plate. “Mia’s parents are getting divorced,” she said. “Her dad moved out and now she only sees him on weekends.”
“That must be hard for Mia,” I said carefully.
“She said her parents fight all the time,” she continued. “Do you and Daddy fight?”
My son looked up from his chicken nuggets, eyes wide, waiting for my answer.
“Sometimes grown-ups disagree about things,” I said. “That’s normal.”
“Are you and Daddy going to get divorced like Mia’s parents?”
I put down my fork. I couldn’t lie to them. They deserved better than that. “Daddy and I are having some problems right now,” I admitted. “We’re trying to figure things out.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Adult problems. Nothing for you to worry about.”
But they were worried. I could see it in their faces, in the way they looked at each other and suddenly became very interested in their food.
That night, my daughter crawled into bed with me. “I miss Daddy,” she whispered.
“I know, honey. You’ll see him soon.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” I held her until her breathing deepened into sleep, then carried her back to her room.
I was exhausted, but sleep was impossible. I kept thinking about everything I had learned, and everything I still didn’t know. How many other lies were there?
I got up and went through the house systematically. I checked every drawer, every cabinet, every coat pocket. In his nightstand, buried under old magazines, I found a box of condoms. We hadn’t used condoms in years—I had my tubes tied after our son was born.
I found receipts for jewelry I had never seen. Restaurant bills from places we had never been together. Hotel confirmations for weekends he claimed to be at conferences.
The evidence kept piling up, each piece another wound, another betrayal. By morning, I had three boxes full of proof that my husband had been living a double life.
I took pictures of everything and sent them to Patricia. She called me back within the hour.
“This changes things,” she said. “With this much evidence of deception, we can argue for extremely favorable terms. He won’t look good in front of a judge.”
“I don’t want to destroy him,” I said. “I just want this to be over.”
“Understood. But you should know what leverage you have.”
Kevin called that afternoon. I let it go to voicemail. He called again. And again. On the fifth attempt, I answered.
“What?”
“Can I please come home?” he begged. “Brandon’s couch is killing my back.”
“That is not my problem.”
“I need to see the kids.”
“You can see them this weekend. I’ll drop them off at Brandon’s.”
“I want to see them at home. In their own environment.”
“You gave up the right to dictate terms when you moved out.”
“I didn’t move out! You kicked me out!”
“Semantics,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment. “I got served today.”
“Good.”
“You’re really going through with this?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t I get a say?”
“You had a say,” I told him. “You made your choice when you started sleeping with Felicity.”
“It was a mistake,” he insisted. “One mistake. Are you really going to throw away ten years over one mistake?”
“It wasn’t one mistake, Kevin. It was thousands of tiny choices. Every time you texted her. Every time you went to that apartment. Every time you lied to my face. Those were all choices.”
“I’m sorry,” he wept.
“I know. But sorry doesn’t fix this.” I hung up.
The next few days were a blur of grief and logistics. I sat the kids down and told them that Daddy and I were separating. My daughter cried. My son asked if it was his fault. I held them both, rocking them, promising over and over that it wasn’t.
“Sometimes adults just can’t be married anymore,” I explained.
“But you still love each other, right?” my daughter asked.
I didn’t know how to answer that. Did I still love Kevin? I loved who I thought he was. But that person had turned out to be fiction.
“It’s complicated,” I finally said. My son nodded like he understood, even though no child should have to understand that.
That weekend, I drove the kids to Brandon’s house for their visit. Kevin came out to the car when we pulled up.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
“Not right now.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at the kids in the back seat. “Can I at least hug them goodbye?”
I nodded. He opened the back door and pulled them both into his arms. They clung to him like he was being deployed to war.
“I’ll see you guys on Sunday, okay?” he told them, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to have so much fun. Maybe we’ll go to the arcade.”
They cheered, oblivious to the tension. I felt a stab of something in my chest. Not jealousy, exactly. More like grief. Grief for what we had been, and what we would never be again.
I drove home to an empty house. I sat in the silence for a while, then resumed my purge of Kevin’s things. In the back of his closet, hidden in a shoe box, I found a journal.
I knew I shouldn’t read it. It felt like a violation. But he had violated me first. So, I opened it.
The first entry was from thirteen months ago. Met someone interesting today. Her name is Felicity. She’s new to the office. We talked for over an hour at the mixer. I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation that engaging.
I flipped ahead.
Felicity and I got coffee today. Just as friends. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her all afternoon. Is that wrong? Probably. But it felt good to feel something.
And further in: I kissed Felicity today. I told myself I wouldn’t. That I’d keep it professional. But when she looked at me with those eyes… I couldn’t help myself. What am I doing? I love my wife. I love my kids. But I can’t stop thinking about her.
The entries went on. Page after page of Kevin’s justifications, his rationalizations, his excuses.
Things with Felicity are getting serious. She wants me to leave. Part of me wants that too. But how can I abandon my kids? They need me. But apparently, they didn’t need him enough to stop him from cheating.
The final entry was from a week ago. I think I’m in love with Felicity. Is that possible? To love two people at once? I know I should end this. I know I’m destroying everything. But I can’t imagine my life without her now.
