He stared at me.
For the first time in our marriage, Daniel had underestimated not my love, but my recordkeeping.
“You’ve changed,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “I stopped translating your cruelty into stress.”
His mouth twitched as if he wanted to say something cutting. Then he looked past me, hoping to see Noah.
“Can I talk to my son?”
“No. Not today.”
“I’m his father.”
“Then act like one in writing, through a custody agreement, with a therapist’s guidance. You don’t get to walk in and out of his emotions like a hotel lobby.”
That struck him. Perhaps because hotels had been his fantasy kingdom.
He stepped back.
“You’ll regret this.”
“I already regret enough.”
I closed the door.
Then I slid down against it and put my hand over my mouth so Noah would not hear me sob.
The months after that were not triumphant.
People love stories where a betrayed woman exposes the villain and immediately becomes rich, beautiful, and untouchable.
Real life was messier.
