“No, I would’ve fought—”
While Peter and the kids were gone, I went into the garage.
Most of my things were still in boxes from after my divorce from Sean. I hadn’t had the energy to go through them properly.
I didn’t even know what I was looking for at first. I just started opening boxes.
Clothes. Old toys. Small appliances.
Then I found the first thing that didn’t make sense.
A notice from Jonathan’s school. It was about a parent meeting I’d supposedly missed. But I’d never seen it before!
I kept going.
I just started opening boxes.
More papers.
- Bills in my name I didn’t recognize.
- Notes from teachers asking why I hadn’t responded.
- Printouts of emails I’d never received.
I sat back on the concrete floor, papers spread around me.
It wasn’t one big thing; it was dozens of small ones.
All of them added up to the same result.
I’d been left out on purpose.
It wasn’t one big thing.
I found Peter in the kitchen when I returned inside.
I dropped the papers on the table.
“Why didn’t you tell me all along?” I asked.
He looked down at them, then back at me.
“I tried, but you weren’t ready to hear it,” he replied. “Telling you too soon meant risking you pushing me away, too. Every time I hinted at something, you defended him or blamed yourself. If I had said it plainly back then, you would’ve shut me out. And then you’d be alone in it.”
That stopped me.
