“Stay true,” you plead.
“I told you. It’s over. I can’t live like this.”
“We promised each other. For better. Or worse.”
“You’ve made our lives worse than worse.”
“I did it for us.”
I hang up. Exhausted. Claire and Michelle burst in. They’re hungry. Disheveled.
I rally to make dinner. Help with homework.
After the divorce, I’ll keep taking the girls for prison visits, for as long as they want. Although I’ll resent it.
I’ll do it for them. Not their mother.