I blinked slowly, anger rising. “You know what I’ve let go of? Sleep. Privacy. Hot meals. Myself. I let myself go so you could chase promotions and sleep in on Saturdays while I kept this house and our kids from burning down.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?” I shot back.
“Turn everything into a list of sacrifices. Like I’m supposed to thank you for being exhausted.”
“I didn’t choose to be exhausted, Cole. I chose you. And you turned me into a single parent without even bothering to shut the fridge.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue.
Then he closed it again, picked up the bottle, and set it down.
“I’m leaving.”
“When?”
“Now.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “You already packed?”
His jaw tightened.
Of course he had.
The clothes. The message. None of this was spontaneous. It had all been planned.
“You were going to leave,” I said slowly, “without even saying goodbye to the kids?”
“They’ll be fine. I’ll send money.”
My hand curled around the edge of the counter.
“Money,” I repeated. “Rose is going to ask where her pancakes are tomorrow morning. You think a bank transfer answers that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not doing this.”
Then he turned and headed upstairs.
I followed.