“I just don’t love you anymore,” he added.
The way he said it was almost gentle, as if he thought that made the blow a little kinder.
“You don’t love me,” I repeated. “Or do you just not love the responsibility?”
He didn’t give me an answer to that.
“Is there someone else?” I asked.
Silence.
That silence should’ve told me everything I needed to know.
No matter what I said, Thatcher refused to change his mind.
When the divorce was finalized, I signed the papers with one hand while balancing Emma on my hip.
My lawyer avoided eye contact when he explained the child support calculations to me.
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