“Be…” he shook his head as if it would unscramble the words I said, and they would not mean I wanted a divorce “…because we had a little fight? Because I call you Elle? Because I joked about sex?”
The tears escaped down my face, but I made no effort to wipe them. “Because I’m miserable.” Why did finally valuing myself feel so … incredibly … selfish?
He coughed a sarcastic laugh. “Miserable? Our house is paid for. We have four amazing kids. I’ve invested so much money we could retire tomorrow. You have a brand-new car. I don’t cheat on you. We don’t fight about money. Every year we take a vacation. You have the life most women would kill to have. What in the hell could possibly be making you miserable?”
He was right on all accounts.
“Money doesn’t buy happiness.”
“So it’s me?”
I nodded.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Jesus! You want to end our marriage because of me, so there must be something I can do. I don’t get one chance to make things right?”
“It’s not …” My head eased side to side. “It’s not that simple.”
Because I’ve fallen out of love with you. You will always own a piece of my heart, but you are not the reason it beats.
“You’re not perfect either.”
My focus shifted to my feet, the purple polish chipping off my toenails. “Believe me … I know.”
When we were younger, before we got married, we’d break up and get back together. This happened several times before I got pregnant with the twins. Breaking up was okay then. Not feeling the same way about someone was okay. A simple “I can’t explain it. I just don’t feel the same,” was enough. There were usually hard feelings for a while, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Giving up after four kids and twenty-two years of marriage felt like the end of the world.
Why was I okay with letting the world end?
“What? Just tell me what I did to make you feel this way.”
“It’s not …” I blew out a slow breath and forced my tear-blurred gaze to meet his again. “It’s not one thing, Craig. Like it wasn’t one thing that made me fall in love with you. It’s a whole bunch of little things.”
“Like what? Elle and Shaboink?”
“Yes.” I glanced out the window, grieving with more tears. It all made sense in my head. Everything put together made sense. It was enough. I just didn’t want to tell him everything because I knew it would be heartless and self-centered. It would sound petty. And saying it was unnecessary because it wouldn’t have changed anything.
“And?” he prodded.
“Let’s not do this.”
“No.” His tone held a sharp edge. “If it’s over, then we’re sure as hell going to do this.”
I shook my head and batted away the tears. “No,” I whispered.
“Fine.” He stepped closer to me. “I’ll go first.”
“Craig …” I continued to shake my head. I didn’t want to do it.
“You’re a fucking nag all the damn time. Always nagging me about leaving the cap off the toothpaste. I don’t make the bed right or load the dishwasher right. You’ve been riding my ass about fixing the shower drain, but the reason it doesn’t drain right is because of all your hair clogging it. When I don’t use perfect English, you just can’t help yourself. You always have to correct me like anyone else gives a shit if I say ‘ain’t’ or ‘gonna.’ And why the hell should I make some grand effort to woo you when half the time you shoot me down? Are a dozen roses really going to get you to spread your legs for me? Shouldn’t you do it because you’re my wife and I work my ass off to be a good provider?”
“No! I don’t spread my legs for roses or a paycheck. I’m not a whore, Craig.” I fisted my hands and gritted my anger through clenched teeth. “If you want me to spread my legs, maybe you shouldn’t pick your nose, roll it up, and flick boogers all over the house! Maybe you shouldn’t overeat like a garbage disposal and burp in my face two seconds before kissing me! Maybe you shouldn’t wink at every woman you see and play it off as you being friendly and me being a snob!”
“You are a snob!” He pointed a stiff finger at me. “A food snob. A book snob. A cleaning product snob. If someone smokes, you look down on them. If someone drinks more than two drinks, you look down on them. Gordon uses chemicals on his lawn, but you just know his kids and dog are going to die from cancer, yet they haven’t. We’re the last to arrive at parties and the first to leave. Snob … snob … such a nose in the air snob.”
I opened my mouth to spew a second round of insults. Then I closed it, cupping my hand over my mouth, and pinching my eyes shut as I silently sobbed.
Twenty-two years.
Four kids.
Memories I would cherish forever.
Why did it have to end like that? Slinging insults.
Because it’s real … and truly heartbreaking.
“W-what’s going on?”
I choked on my emotions, swallowing them back down my throat as my eyes flew open, landing on our daughter, Bella.
Craig grabbed his truck keys from the counter and brushed past our daughter in her long, red nightshirt, black hair like his—but long and ratted like mine in the morning—eyes like a raccoon’s from not removing her makeup before bed. “Ask your mom. She’s the one who’s trying to break up our family.”
Two seconds later, the door slammed behind him, and a confused Bella redirected her attention to me—eyes unblinking with confusion as Meadow sat at her feet. “Mom?”
Chapter Two
I love him, but I don’t love the fifty pairs of stinky socks in his trunk.
* * *
Finn made his way downstairs shortly after Craig stormed out. He was home for the holidays, and the twins were arriving the following day. I sat Bella and Finn down for some real talk, knowing I owed them an explanation, but also knowing that I would have to repeat everything with the twins—but with Craig’s point of view too. No other option existed. I had to trust my two youngest with feelings I couldn’t fully explain because some of them weren’t well-defined by words.
Bella cried. Finn showed no emotion.
“Now what?” Bella asked, wiping her eyes.
“Well, I don’t know for sure. We might have to sell the house, but we won’t do it until you’ve moved to college.”
“So … you’ll what? Live together—divorced—until Bella graduates?” Finn asked, eyes squinted.
“No. One of us will move out. Maybe rent something close until she graduates.” I shook my head slowly. “Or maybe we’ll both stay in the house. I … I don’t know yet.”
Because the straw broke, and I didn’t have time to plan cleanup of the collateral damage.
“Well, it should probably be you who moves out since Dad paid for the house.”
I blinked at Finn several times. “Wow. I thought I taught you better than that.”