After ten years and two children, my husband decided he was done. He had no interest in couple’s therapy, the marriage was over, and he had a lawyer. This was told to me four days before we were scheduled to fly across the country to my cousin’s wedding, staying for an extra two nights to have time to reconnect without other obligations.
“You should still go. You can say my grandfather is ill, and I needed to stay behind.”
He brought out my love of acting again. I said that lie with a graceful and concerned smile, over and over.
He helped me prove my self-sufficiency. Renting a car, driving unfamiliar roads, exploring San Francisco alone… finding a local book store, a literary bar with scribbled first drafts all over the walls, riding the double decker bus where the wind could dry the occasional tear.
He reminded me that alone and lonely are not synonymous.
He protected me from making the same decision.
Together, we navigated the mediator and the court. He bought me a bottle of wine after the judge signed our documents. He said he hoped we could be friends again… someday. If I could ever get my emotions under control.
Our children are both adult-ish now, and I cannot imagine a better co-parent for the past decade. He changed schedules on a whim, always put the children’s best interests first. We split holidays without too much heartache (the first Christmas morning without them was rough, but I found I preferred Yule). His sense of humor is still endearing. His eyes are kind. He still has great taste in music.
I’m grateful our kids got his genes and his guidance.
The kindest thing that’s ever been done to me? Teaching me love is always the right choice, even when it hurts.
Internal Monologue 
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