Our bedroom door was open. His suitcase sat on the bed, already half zipped, clothes folded far too neatly for someone who’d just decided to leave.

“You were never going to tell me, were you?” I asked.

“I was.”

“When? After the hotel? After the pictures showed up online?”

He didn’t answer.

I stood in the doorway, trembling. “You could’ve told me you were unhappy.”

“I am telling you,” he snapped. “I’m choosing my happiness.”

“And what about ours?”

His back stayed turned, shoulders stiff.

“I can’t do this with you, Paige,” he said. “You make everything messy.”
Something inside me finally snapped, like a rubber band stretched too tight.

“No, you made it messy the moment you started seeing someone else.”

He didn’t respond. He dragged the suitcase past me and walked out.

I didn’t chase him.

Instead, I stood at the window and watched his taillights disappear down the street without slowing once.

Then I went downstairs, locked the door, and finally let the weight of everything he hadn’t said crash down on me.

“Okay,” I murmured into my clenched hand. “Okay. Just breathe.”

I stayed there for a long moment, listening to the silence pressing in around me.

I cried until it felt like my ribs were bruised from the inside out—not only for myself, but for what morning would bring. For the questions my kids would ask. Questions I couldn’t lie about, but couldn’t fully answer without breaking something inside them.

**

At exactly six, my youngest climbed into bed beside me, dragging her blanket behind her like a cape. She curled up against my side.

“Mommy,” Rose murmured sleepily. “Is Daddy making pancakes?”

My heart split open.

“Not today, baby,” I whispered, kissing her curls.

I forced myself out of bed before I could fall apart again. Breakfast had to happen. Lunchboxes had to be packed. Socks had gone missing. One shoe had disappeared completely, somehow ruining two children’s mornings at once.

A few hours later, while I was pouring milk, my phone rang.

Mark—Cole’s coworker. The same man my kids trusted enough to climb on like he was playground equipment.

I lifted the phone to my ear. “Mark, I can’t—”

“Paige,” he interrupted. His voice was tight, controlled, but beneath it I heard the panic. “You need to come here. Now.”

“Where?” I froze mid-pour. “What’s happening?”

“I’m at the office,” he said. “Cole’s in a glass conference room. HR’s here. Darren too.”

My stomach dropped. “What did Cole do?”