He also started answering texts with his body angled away from mine. When I asked, “Who keeps messaging you this late?” he’d just shrug and say, “Work stuff. Don’t start.”
But I wasn’t trying to start anything. I was just trying to hold our whole world together.
One night, while both babies were finally asleep, Thatcher sat across from me and said calmly, “I want a divorce.”
There was baby formula drying on my shirt. I remember that detail more than anything else.
I actually laughed because the words didn’t even register in my brain.
“Stop,” I said. “I’m way too tired for jokes.”
“I’m not joking.”
My stomach dropped so fast I had to grip the edge of the couch.
He promised he’d be a good father, pay child support, and show up for them.
“I’ll still take care of them,” he said. “I’m not walking away from my kids.”
