I boarded that cruise hoping to leave my heartbreak behind and figure out who I was without my husband. I never imagined the answers I’d been desperately searching for would come from a man I’d never expected to see again.
Three weeks had passed, and I still sat in the same chair every morning, staring at the exact spot where Marcus had placed those papers.
Twenty-two years of marriage had been reduced to one evening when he came home from work, placed a manila folder on the kitchen table, and said one sentence.
“I don’t think we’re meant to grow old together.”
I still sat in the same chair every morning.
That was what my husband said. No shouting. No tears. And no known affairs.
I honestly thought he was joking. He wasn’t.
When I begged him to explain why, he repeated, “We’ve grown apart. We’ve become too different.”
Then I heard the click of the porch light behind him as he walked out.
