“So that’s it?” I said slowly. “You found someone with tighter abs and suddenly sixteen years mean nothing?”
“You’ve let yourself go,” he said bluntly.
That felt like a slap.
“You know what I let go of?” I snapped. “Sleep. Privacy. Free time. I let go of myself while raising six kids so you could chase promotions and sleep late on Saturdays.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You always make it dramatic.”
“I didn’t choose exhaustion,” I said. “I chose you.”
He shrugged.
“I’m leaving.”
“When?”
“Now.”
I let out a short laugh.
“You already packed, didn’t you?”
Of course he had. His suitcase was already waiting upstairs.
“You were just going to walk out without saying goodbye to the kids?” I asked.
“They’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll send money.”
“Money?” I repeated. “Tomorrow morning Emma’s going to ask where her pancakes are. Is a bank transfer supposed to answer that?”
He turned and headed upstairs.
I followed him into our bedroom where his suitcase sat half-zipped on the bed.
“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” I asked.
“I was,” he said impatiently.
“When? After your hotel trip?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’m choosing my happiness,” he finally said.
“And what about ours?”
He picked up the suitcase.