PART 10 – The More Daniel Tried to Explain His Decision, the More I Realized How Little I Had Known About His Last Years

I stayed beside the bed.

Daniel looked as though he needed a few minutes before continuing.

I let him rest.

The hospital room had become familiar in an uncomfortable way.

The glass of water.

The folded blanket.

The phone beside his hand.

I kept noticing those little things because I didn't know where else to look.

Eventually, he opened his eyes.

"You remember how I acted during the divorce?"

I nodded.

"Of course."

"I know you thought I didn't care."

"You didn't exactly give me another impression."

He accepted that.

I continued.

"You didn't fight for the house. You didn't fight over the savings. You barely argued about anything."

"I remember."

"I thought you wanted to leave everything behind."

He looked at me.

"I wanted you and the children to keep what you had."

I shook my head.

"You keep saying that as if it explains everything."

"It doesn't."

At least he admitted that.

I asked him whether he had ever regretted the way the divorce happened.

He nodded.

"Every year."

I looked at him.

Every year.

Those words stayed with me.

For five years, I had believed Daniel was relieved to be free.

I had imagined him moving on while I dealt with the difficult parts of rebuilding our family.

But he was telling me he had regretted his decision throughout those years.

I didn't know whether to believe him.

I asked whether he had ever considered coming back to the house.

He shook his head.

"Not after everything was finished."

"Why?"

"I thought it was too late."

I looked away.

I remembered the first birthday after the divorce.

The children had wanted both of us there.

Daniel had come.

He had smiled for photographs and spoken to everyone.

Then he had left.

At the time, I thought he was eager to return to his own life.

I had no idea what he had been thinking.

I remembered another school event.

He had stood near the back while the children looked for him.

When they found him, his face changed.

He looked genuinely happy.

But after the event, he left before I could speak to him.

I had assumed he was avoiding me.

Perhaps he had been.

But now I couldn't be sure.

"Why did you always leave so early?"

He looked at me.

"I didn't want to make things difficult."

"For whom?"

"For you."

I gave him a tired look.

"You never asked whether I wanted you to stay."

He lowered his eyes.

"No."

That answer hurt more than I expected.

Because it was true.

He had made decisions without asking me.

He had decided what I could handle.

He had decided what I should believe.

And he had decided when his presence would be welcome.

I had spent years thinking he simply didn't care enough to stay.

Now I was hearing that he had been making those choices for reasons he had never shared.

I rubbed my forehead.

"I wish you had just talked to me."

He nodded.

"So do I."

I looked at him.

"Do you?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Then he gave a small nod.

I wanted to believe him.

But wanting to believe something and actually believing it were different things.

I asked about his apartment.

Had he liked living there?

He looked toward the window.

"It was small."

I remembered how little he had taken when he moved.

There had been no dramatic packing scene.

No argument over furniture.

No demand for half the things in the house.

He had simply moved out.

I had thought that was because he wanted to start over with someone else.

Now I remembered that he had lived alone.

I wondered whether he had ever felt lonely.

I didn't ask.

Instead, I asked why he had never told the children the truth about the affair.

He looked uncomfortable.

"I didn't want them caught between us."

I nodded slowly.

That was something I could understand.

The children had already experienced the divorce.

They didn't need to become part of an argument about who had hurt whom.

But it still bothered me that he had allowed them to grow up believing their father had been unfaithful.

I looked at him.

"They deserved honesty too."

He closed his eyes.

"Yes."

For a moment, I thought he might say something else.

But he seemed too tired.

I watched him rest.

And I began to understand that the years between the divorce and this hospital visit had contained far more silence than either of us had admitted.

Click here to continue reading: PART 11: I Had Mistaken His Empty Apartment for a New Beginning, Until I Finally Asked What His Life Had Become