The divorce began with a phone call to a lawyer.
I didn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering whether Daniel would come home one evening and tell me he had changed his mind.
I wanted an answer.
I wanted an agreement.
I wanted him out of the house.
The lawyer asked whether we had discussed dividing our property.
I told her Daniel had admitted to having another relationship and said he wanted to leave.
She asked whether he had moved out.
I said yes.
Then she asked whether he was willing to negotiate.
I didn't know.
I hadn't spoken to him about money.
At that point, money seemed like the least important thing in the world.
But it didn't stay that way.
A few days later, Daniel came to the house.
He arrived carrying a folder.
He looked tired.
His shirt was wrinkled, and he had dark circles under his eyes.
I opened the door but didn't invite him inside.
"The children are at school," I said.
"I know."
He held out the folder.
"I spoke to someone about the paperwork."
I looked at it.
"What paperwork?"
"The house. The accounts. The divorce."
I didn't take it immediately.
"You've already spoken to a lawyer?"
He nodded.
I felt another wave of anger.
He had apparently made more decisions about our future without telling me.
"What exactly do you want?"
"Whatever makes things easier for you and the children."
I stared at him.
"That's not an answer."
He looked down at the folder.
"I'm not going to fight you over the house."
I almost laughed.
"You think this is about the house?"
"No."
"Then what is it about?"
He didn't respond.
I took the folder.
Inside were preliminary documents and a list of our financial accounts.
There was no demand for half the house.
No argument over the savings.
No long list of conditions.
I looked up.
"You're just going to walk away?"
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
"I don't want to make this harder."
"You already made it harder."
He nodded.
"I know."
I wanted him to fight.
That sounds strange now.
At the time, I wanted him to show that fourteen years meant something.
I wanted him to say he couldn't simply sign away the life we had built.
But he didn't.
He stood in the doorway and waited.
"Are you going to ask for custody?"
He shook his head.
"We can arrange it around the children."
"Are you going to ask for the savings?"
"No."
"The house?"
"No."
"Anything?"
He looked at me.
"Just make sure they're okay."
I remember how angry that made me.
He could betray me, move out, and then leave me with a sentence that sounded like concern.
I thought it was convenient.
I thought he wanted to escape responsibility while pretending to be generous.
I didn't know what else to believe.
The divorce moved quickly.
There were meetings.
Documents.
Signatures.
Questions about school schedules and holidays.
The children needed a routine, so we arranged for Daniel to see them regularly.
He rented a small apartment across town.
I never visited it.
I only knew the address because it appeared on the paperwork.
A modest place.
Nothing like the house we had shared.
He took a few boxes of clothes, his work computer, some books, and a photograph of the children.
He left the furniture.
He left the kitchen equipment.
He left the old television in the spare room.
He even left the wooden chair he had repaired himself.
I remember seeing it beside the dining table after he moved out.
One leg was slightly uneven.
He had fixed it with a small piece of wood underneath.
I considered throwing it away.
I didn't.
The day the divorce was finalized, I sat in my car outside the courthouse.
Daniel came out a few minutes after me.
He had a copy of the papers folded in his hand.
For a moment, I thought he might say something.
He didn't.
He simply nodded.
I nodded back.
Then he walked toward his car.
I watched him leave.
I expected to feel victorious.
I had kept the house.
I had kept most of our savings.
The children would remain primarily with me.
He had not fought for much of anything.
But there was no victory in it.
Only an empty space where my husband used to be.
That night, I put the divorce papers in a drawer.
I placed them beneath the children's birth certificates.
Then I went into the kitchen and made dinner.
I didn't tell anyone how badly my hands were shaking.
The first few months were difficult.
The children asked questions.
They wanted to know whether their father was happy in his apartment.
They asked whether he had a new family.
I told them I didn't know.
That was the truth.
I had never met the woman I imagined.
I didn't know her name.
I didn't know where she lived.
I didn't know what she looked like.
I assumed Daniel was keeping her away from the children because he wanted to avoid making the divorce more painful.
I assumed he would introduce her eventually.
But he never did.
At first, I asked mutual friends.
I tried to sound casual.
"Have you seen Daniel lately?"
"Is he doing okay?"
"Has he been going out with anyone?"
Most people said the same thing.
They had seen him at work.
They had spoken to him briefly.
He seemed quiet.
Nobody mentioned a girlfriend.
Nobody had seen him with another woman.
I told myself they simply didn't know.
There had to be someone.
Why else would he have admitted to cheating?
Why else would he have given up so much without a fight?
I made the pieces fit the story I had already accepted.
And whenever doubt appeared, I pushed it away.
Because doubting him meant admitting I might never know what had happened.
A few months after the divorce, Daniel attended our youngest child's school event.
He sat near the back.
He clapped when the children finished their performance.
Afterward, he waited while the children showed him their drawings.
He smiled for photographs.
He asked whether they wanted ice cream.
Then he left.
I watched him walk across the parking lot.
He didn't turn around.
I remember thinking that he was already living a different life.
I was wrong about that, too.
But I didn't know it yet.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: For Five Years, He Came to Every Important Moment but Never Stayed Long Enough for Me to Understand Why
The Wednesday Night Daniel Told Me There Was Someone Else, and I Realized Our Marriage Was Already Over
Part 2 of 20
