Instead they rented a three-bedroom townhouse.
Jennifer hated the kitchen.
Michael hated the shared driveway.
The children loved the community pool.
I visited two weeks after they moved.
Jennifer opened the door.
For a moment we simply looked at each other.
Then she said, “Come in.”
Not warmly.
But sincerely.
Boxes still lined the hallway.
Owen took me upstairs to show me his room.
Lily had taped paper stars over hers.
After the children went outside, Jennifer and I sat at a small kitchen table.
Michael had gone to buy groceries.
I wondered if that was deliberate.
Jennifer folded her hands.
“I owe you an apology.”
I waited.
Her mouth tightened.
“I’ve rehearsed this, so if you interrupt me, I may lose my nerve.”
I almost smiled.
“I’ll behave.”
She took a breath.
“What I said before Christmas was cruel.”
I nodded.
“I knew it was cruel when I said it.”
That surprised me.
She continued.
“I was angry at you.”
“Why?”
“Because every month that money came in, I felt like you were in our marriage.”
I stared.
Jennifer looked embarrassed.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Keep going.”
“Michael would say we couldn’t afford something. Then your transfer came. Or you’d help with the children. Or pay for something. And I started feeling like every decision in our house had your fingerprints on it.”
“I never told you what to buy.”
“No.”
“Or where to live.”
