“I can’t do this anymore.”
I remember laughing at first because I thought he meant the bills, or work stress, or maybe our constant arguing over stupid things like dishes and laundry.
“What, adulthood?” I joked.
He didn’t laugh.
He took off his wedding ring.
That was when I understood.
“What are you doing?”
He carefully placed the ring on the table between us.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
I shook my head so hard that my ponytail slapped against my shoulders.
“No, you’re not doing this.”
“I have to.”
I asked him if there was someone else.
He said no.
I asked if he stopped loving me.
He looked down and said, “It’s better this way.”
“Better for who?”
He never answered that.
He just sat there, staring at the wood grain in our dining table as though it held every answer I deserved but would never receive.
I begged.
I cried.
I demanded explanations.
He apologized over and over without actually explaining anything.
Every apology sounded empty.
After nearly an hour, I realized something that hurt almost as much as losing him.
He had already made up his mind.
Nothing I said mattered anymore.
The divorce happened faster than I expected.
