“You let me spend 2 years wondering what I’d done wrong.”
His voice cracked.
“I know.”
Those two words somehow made me even angrier.
“You don’t know!”
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
“You don’t know what it did to me. I questioned every conversation we’d ever had. I blamed myself. I tore myself apart trying to figure out why my husband stopped loving me.”
“I never stopped loving you,” he said through tears.
“That wasn’t your decision to make!”
The words came out louder than I expected.
“You decided my future without asking me.”
I couldn’t stop crying.
“You thought protecting me meant lying to me.”
He nodded. “It did.”
His shoulders shook.
Neither of us spoke for several moments.
Finally, he looked back into the camera.
“The worst part is, I didn’t even leave because I wanted to.”
His voice almost disappeared.
“I left because I loved you more than I trusted you.”
That sentence hit me like a punch.
“I thought love meant making the decision for both of us.”
“No,” I whispered. “It doesn’t.”
He took a slow breath.
“About 6 months after the divorce, my doctor referred me to another specialist.”
I frowned.
“What happened?”
