Grant ended the call without looking down at the screen.
“Babysitting involuntarily?” I said.
Grant sighed and leaned back against the dresser. “I can’t help what I feel, Meredith. I wish I could. I really do. But I still provide for them. I’m here every single day. I do the work.”
“That’s not the same as being a father. How can we raise children in a house where their father is waiting for them to disappear so he can finally ‘breathe.’ They aren’t a burden, Grant. They’re people. Your people.”
“Look, it’s not a big deal, Meredith. We’ve gotten this far, and you never noticed, the kids never noticed…”
I thought of Emma’s drawing in the attic, her first ornament, and Caleb’s play.
“You’re wrong. It is a big deal, and it ends now. Our kids… my kids deserve better.”
His face turned pale. “What — what does that mean?”
I walked out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. I expected him to follow me. I expected a plea, an argument, or even a shout. But I heard nothing but the sound of my own footsteps.
I pulled out my phone as I walked back toward the attic ladder.
“Hey,” I said when my mom picked up. “Can the kids stay one more night? Maybe the weekend?”
“Of course, honey. They’re having a blast. But you sound… tense. What’s going on?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I could hear the muffled sound of my children laughing in the background of her house.
“Okay,” Mom said. “Okay. Come over whenever you’re ready. We’ll be here.”
I hung up and climbed back into the attic. I needed to turn the light off. I stood in the center of the room and looked at the boxes I’d spent all morning organizing.
I’d been so blind, but now the blinkers were off; there was no going back.
Grant missed the life before our children.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine a life without them.
That wasn’t a small disagreement about parenting styles. It wasn’t something we could fix with a few therapy sessions or a date night. It was the whole marriage.
