“That I’m with Alyssa now. She makes me happy! You’ve let yourself go, and that’s on you.”
“You’re with her?” I asked.
“Yes.”
The second “yes” was the one that hurt. It meant he had rehearsed this, and I was the last to learn my own life had been replaced. No apology, no shame. Just a truth delivered like a minor inconvenience.
“She makes me feel alive again,” he added, 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.
“When was the last time you even put on real clothes? Or wore something that wasn’t stained?”
“You don’t see yourself anymore.”
My breath hitched. “So that’s it? You’re bored? You found someone with better leggings and tighter abs, and suddenly the last sixteen years are a mistake?”
“You’ve let yourself go,” he said flatly.
That landed like a slap.
“You know what I’ve let go of?” I shot back. “Sleep. Privacy. Hot meals. Myself. I let myself go so you could chase promotions and sleep in on Saturdays while I kept our house and kids from catching on fire.”
He rolled his eyes. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
