“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, then shut it again. Picked up the bottle, set it down.
“I’m leaving.”
“When?”
“Now.”
I laughed, short and mean. “You packed already?”
His jaw tensed. Of course he had. The clothes. The message. This wasn’t spontaneous—it was planned.
“You were going to walk out without even saying goodbye to the kids?”
“They’ll be fine. I’ll send money.”
“Money,” I repeated. “Rose is going to ask where her pancakes are tomorrow. You think a direct deposit’s going to answer that?”
“I’m not doing this,” he muttered, 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 was.”
“When? After the hotel? After the pictures were posted?”
Silence.
“You could’ve just told me you were unhappy.”
“I am telling you,” he snapped. “I’m choosing my happiness.”
“And what about ours?”
“I can’t do this with you, Paige. You make everything messy.”
“No, you made it messy when you decided to see someone else.”
He dragged the suitcase past me and out the door. I didn’t follow, but I watched his taillights disappear without slowing once. Then I locked the door and let the weight of everything he didn’t say hit me all at once.
