“That he wants to start over.”
I swallowed.
“Michael, your father is entitled to make choices about his life. But he is also responsible for the way he makes them.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to choose sides.”
“Mom, I’m not choosing sides. I’m telling you that if Dad thinks he can walk away from forty-two years without answering for what he’s done, he’s wrong.”
For the first time in days, I felt a small measure of strength return.
My children couldn’t repair my marriage.
But I didn’t have to face the consequences of its collapse entirely alone.
Three days after Robert left, he came back to collect more of his clothes.
I watched from the kitchen doorway as he opened the wardrobe.
He took his suits, his shoes, and the leather jacket he wore on family trips. Then he reached for a small wooden box on the top shelf.
