From that moment on, the presence and absence of love were glaringly apparent.
"Alexander, look," I finally said, summoning the strength to confront him. "You have the inheritance already. You're successful. What more do you want from me? I'm giving you your freedom back!"
Standing in the same room with him made me feel physically ill. He seemed to think my actions were just a ploy to gain his attention.
Alexander, without even looking up, scoffed, "What now? Changing your tactics? You can't threaten me with your son, so now you're using yourself as leverage?"
A year ago, our son Lucas was diagnosed with brain cancer. He'd received countless critical illness notices since then. I recalled how desperately Lucas had called out for a glimpse of his father, but Alexander never visited him. He thought I was using Lucas to gain sympathy and manipulate him. After almost a decade of shared life, this was how little he thought of me.
I wiped away my tears. "Think what you want. I'm leaving."
I began to leave with my luggage when Cassandra interjected, "Alexander, I heard you planned to take Lucas to Disneyland. You didn't cancel that for the mountain trip with me, did you? Natalie is upset..."