Daniel took a slow breath.
I watched him carefully.
He looked exhausted, and I wondered whether he had enough strength for the conversation he had started.
I almost suggested we continue another day.
Then I remembered his phone call.
The way he had insisted that I come before contacting the children.
He clearly believed this conversation needed to happen now.
So I waited.
He looked at his hands again.
"I know you think I didn't care what happened to our family."
I didn't answer.
He continued.
"I know that's what my behavior made you believe."
I looked at him.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
That was exactly what I had believed.
When he accepted the divorce so easily, I thought he was relieved.
When he didn't fight for the house, I thought he was already thinking about somewhere else.
When he left with so little resistance, I assumed his mind was somewhere beyond our marriage.
And when he moved into that small apartment across town, I thought he had chosen a new life.
I had never considered that he might have been trying to accomplish something else.
Daniel looked at me.
"I wasn't trying to take anything from you."
"I noticed."
The words came out colder than I intended.
He nodded.
"I wanted you and the children to have the house."
I stared at him.
"You could have said that."
"I should have."
"You could have explained why you weren't fighting over the money."
"I know."
I shook my head.
It was becoming difficult to listen to him repeatedly agree with me.
I didn't need him to tell me I was right.
I needed him to tell me what had happened.
"Why were you so determined to leave?"
He looked toward the window again.
"I thought it would be easier if you hated me."
I felt my expression change.
There it was again.
The same idea.
He wanted me to hate him.
He wanted me to believe he had been unfaithful.
He wanted me to stop asking questions.
But why?
I looked at the hospital blanket.
There were small folds near his hand where he had been gripping it.
I remembered him doing something similar during the divorce.
He had often sat with his hands together while I discussed arrangements.
I had interpreted that as a lack of interest.
Now I wondered whether I had simply never understood what I was looking at.
"You didn't seem to care when I was upset."
He looked at me.
"I cared."
"Then why didn't you show it?"
He didn't answer.
I could feel the old frustration returning.
There had been so many moments when I had wanted him to fight for us.
Even after the confession, a part of me had expected him to explain himself.
To say something that might make me reconsider.
Instead, he had let everything happen.
I had taken his silence as proof that I meant very little to him.
And perhaps that was the worst part.
Not the money.
Not the house.
Not even the imagined woman.
It was believing that fourteen years could end without Daniel making any real effort to keep me.
"I thought you were happy to be rid of me."
His face changed.
"No."
The answer was immediate.
I looked at him.
He seemed to want to say more, but his strength was fading.
He rested his head against the pillow.
I waited until he opened his eyes again.
"Then why did you make it look that way?"
He gave a tired breath.
"Because I didn't know how to tell you what was happening."
I felt my anger shift into confusion.
"What was happening?"
He looked at me.
For a moment, I thought he was finally going to explain everything.
Instead, he seemed to struggle with the words.
I moved closer.
"Daniel, listen to me. Whatever it is, I need you to tell me."
He nodded.
"I know."
I looked around the room.
There was a glass of water on the small table.
A folded hospital blanket.
A chair that had become uncomfortable after sitting in it for so long.
Ordinary things.
Yet I couldn't stop thinking about how strange it was to be there with him.
Five years ago, I had walked away believing I understood the worst thing he had done.
Now I was discovering that I might not have understood anything.
I asked whether the children knew he was this ill.
He shook his head.
"Not yet."
I frowned.
"Why not?"
He looked at me with tired eyes.
"I wanted to speak to you first."
I didn't know what to say.
I had spent years assuming he had little interest in maintaining a relationship with me.
Now he had called me before anyone else.
That didn't erase what he had done.
But it made me realize there were questions I had never thought to ask.
I sat back down.
"All right."
He looked at me.
"All right?"
"Tell me what you were trying to hide."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he nodded.
And I stayed.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: I Had Spent Five Years Looking for Another Woman, When the Person I Needed Answers From Had Been Sitting Alone Across Town
The Wednesday Night Conversation That Made Me Believe My Fourteen-Year Marriage Had Been Nothing But a Lie
Part 6 of 20
