When I went to Lily’s room, she looked up from her book.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
I knelt beside her. “We’re going to Grandma’s for a little while, sweetheart. Pack a few things.”
Max appeared in the doorway. “Where’s Dad?”
I took a deep breath. “Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes. But we’ll be okay. I promise.”
That night, I drove through the rain with my children asleep in the backseat. I didn’t look back.
At my mother’s doorstep, words failed me. She pulled me into her arms as I finally broke down.
The days that followed were a blur of legal paperwork, school runs, and late-night tears. The divorce was quick and cold. We sold the house. I bought a small two-bedroom place where the kids and I could start fresh.
The hardest part wasn’t losing the house—it was watching Lily and Max realize their father wasn’t coming back.
At first, Stan sent child support checks. Then the payments stopped. So did the calls. Later, I heard through friends that Miranda didn’t want him “distracted” by his old life. And Stan, weak as ever, went along with it.
