The Year After Mark Stepped Out

The first year was a nightmare. I was consumed by pain, sleepless nights, and a feeling of utter worthlessness. Yet, I refused to file for divorce; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

The second year, Mark moved out, citing some legal mumbo jumbo about needing to be separated for two years before a divorce could be finalized.

One night, our son, Leo, came down with a terrible stomach bug. It was a blizzard outside, and I rushed him to the ER alone. He was throwing up the whole way, and I was a mess, totally overwhelmed. We somehow made it through.

The third year, Leo wanted to take a vacation for the summer, but Mark was suddenly too busy. I gathered my courage and took him to Japan myself. We rode trains from Fukuoka to Saga, explored, and had a blast. It was just the two of us, and it was amazing.

The fourth year, Mark broke up with his girlfriend, saying he wanted to come home. I laughed, and told him, “No thanks, we’re doing just fine without you.”

Part 1

Mark called to schedule a meeting to discuss the divorce. That's when it hit me: we had actually been separated for two years.

When I opened the door, I was a little disoriented. He stood there awkwardly. "Can I come in?" he asked.

I nodded, stepping aside to let him pass.

He took his shoes off in the entryway and reached for a pair of slippers in the shoe cabinet. Then, he realized there was only one pair there, Leo’s.

I handed him some disposable shoe covers. “Use these. I got rid of a lot of stuff during the spring cleaning.”

“Oh,” he replied quietly, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

But hey, when he'd packed his bags and walked out, hadn't he said, "I'm never coming back?" You leave, you get chucked in the bin, right?

I’d just made a pot of tea. "Want some tea?” I asked, trying to be polite.

He hesitated, and before he could answer, I realized, "Oh, that's right, you only drink coffee.

“I got rid of the coffee maker a long time ago, so you'll have to make do with this,” I said.

He looked startled, a note of sadness in his voice. “This place really doesn’t feel like my home anymore.”

I chuckled. “Well, it's not really your home anymore, is it? Don’t you have a new place?”

Part 2

Mark and I had been college sweethearts. He was easy-going, a good worker, and took good care of me. Three years into our marriage, we had Leo.

I worked freelance so I could balance work and taking care of Leo. With the help of a nanny, it wasn't too bad. Plus, Mark would pitch in with chores and hang out with Leo when he got home. We were a happy little family.

Or so I thought.

When Leo was three, things changed. Mark's parents, who lived in the old family home, had some drama with the neighbors. They decided to rent an apartment next door to us.

I didn't really have a say in it. I mean, they weren't moving in with us, after all.

Mark’s parents are very traditional and hardworking. His mom insisted on making us dinner every night and kept nagging me and Mark to come over to eat. His dad...