“She makes me feel alive again,” he added, like he was performing a breakup speech.
Alive?
“We have six kids, Cole. What do you think this is, a coma?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “You don’t even see yourself anymore. You used to care about how you looked. How we looked.”
I stared at him.
He continued. “When’s the last time you wore real clothes? Or something that wasn’t stained?”
My breath caught. “So that’s it? You got bored? Found someone with tighter abs and nicer leggings, and suddenly the last sixteen years are what—a mistake?”
“You’ve let yourself go,” he said bluntly.
The words hit like a slap.
I blinked slowly, anger rising. “You know what I’ve let go of? Sleep. Privacy. Hot meals. Myself. I let myself go so you could chase promotions and sleep in on Saturdays while I kept this house and our kids from burning down.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?” I shot back.
“Turn everything into a list of sacrifices. Like I’m supposed to thank you for being exhausted.”
“I didn’t choose to be exhausted, Cole. I chose you. And you turned me into a single parent without even bothering to shut the fridge.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue.
Then he closed it again, picked up the bottle, and set it down.
“I’m leaving.”
“When?”
“Now.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “You already packed?”
His jaw tightened.
Of course he had.
The clothes. The message. None of this was spontaneous. It had all been planned.
“You were going to leave,” I said slowly, “without even saying goodbye to the kids?”
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