“Where’s Dad?”
“He left.”
Emily sat beside me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.
“Oh, Mom.”
That was all she said.
And somehow, those two words gave me permission to cry.
I cried for the husband I thought I had. I cried for the future I had imagined. I cried because at sixty-five, after spending so much of my life caring for everyone else, I suddenly had no idea what to do with myself.
When Emily finally went home, she hugged me at the door.
“Listen to me. Whatever happens between you and Dad, you are not losing your family.”
I nodded.
But I was afraid she was wrong.
The following afternoon, our son, Michael, called.
He was angry.
“Mom, I spoke to Dad. He says things have been difficult between you for years.”
I stared at the phone.
“Did he tell you about Susan?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he tell you?”
