I still remember the day I accidentally opened a hidden folder on her phone and found over a thousand photos of Archie saved on her phone. Some were candid, some selfies, but all of them were worshipful.
When she found out, she flew into a rage, lashing at me, "Troy, do you have any manners? Who gave you permission to look through my things?"
After that, she didn't speak to me for a week.
She wouldn't touch the food I cooked and refused to wear anything I'd washed. Much worse, she moved into the guest room and wrapped herself up like I was a virus.
Eventually, I gave in and apologized.
I promised her that I wouldn't go through her stuff again.
She "forgave" me—with a cold nod as acceptance. No words were spoken, and we moved on, pretending we were okay.
Now, across the table, Kenneth looked at me with worry.
Finally, he replied cautiously but firmly, "Troy, this divorce is not just about how you feel. It will hit both of your families—your dad and Gerard. You think they'll just let you walk away?"