The evening unraveled from there. His parents left without another word. Iris followed, tears spilling down her cheeks. My mother wrapped the children in her arms and whispered something gentle into Emma’s hair. I felt like I might collapse, but I stayed upright until the last door closed.
Camille hovered awkwardly, her heels clicking across the tile as she glanced around like she had stepped into the wrong scene. Marcus stood beside her, too proud to notice the ground slipping beneath him.
Then they were gone.
The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.
I barely made it to the bedroom before falling onto the bed, pressing my face into a pillow, and crying until my throat burned. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was humiliation. I couldn’t reconcile the man who once laughed with me over burnt pancakes, who kissed me in the hospital after Emma was born, with the man who had publicly dismantled our lives.
The next two days blurred together. I moved mechanically — packing school lunches with shaking hands, helping with homework, pretending to function. Emma stayed close, watching me constantly. Jacob asked if his dad was coming home, and I had no words.