He drummed his fingers on the table.
“Oh, it’s ending all right. Don’t worry.”
He got up, walked into the bedroom, and returned with two suitcases and a briefcase. I had not realized he had packed.
I had never even guessed that this scenario was possible, so I had not bothered to look for clues that this was coming.
“I’m moving out for a while until I figure out what I’m going to do,” he announced without looking at me.
Slowly, he turned to me.
“I am so angry right now that, if I see you before I am ready to do so, it is very likely that I am going to punch your lights out, so keep your distance.”
He said that without any emotion at all. Then, he paused and smiled but without any warmth.
“Guess you were right to worry about me hurting you after all.”
He walked out.
That was eight weeks ago. He refused to talk with me for almost the entire time after he moved out. We dealt mostly through our mothers. He took our daughter on the weekends during the daytime and dropped her off with one of the mothers in the evening so I could pick her up.
We also dealt through our lawyers. One week after he left, his attorney sent me papers for a mutually agreed divorce, with a letter stating that, if I refused to agree, then my husband was just going to wait for a full year and file for divorce on the basis of having lived separate and apart for over a year.
I could not believe we had gotten to this point. Five years together suddenly over. I had my lawyer tell his that I would consider signing, but only if he agreed to come to the house to talk to me. If he refused, he could damned well wait the whole year.
He must have been eager to get rid of me because he agreed to a meeting, but I was still hopeful about a reconciliation. His mother took our daughter that day. Even though the house still belonged to both of us, he rang the bell. I answered. He did not move to embrace me. His face had a hard, formal look to it.
Kelly came in when I moved aside and sat in the one chair that meant that, no matter where I sat, I could not get close to him. We looked at each other. Eventually, he spoke.
“You wanted to talk so talk.”
“I don’t want a divorce. I want to get past this.”
“You just don’t want my child though, right?”
When I did not answer—and what could I say?—he continued.
“So, what now?