He sobbed.
I laughed once, sharp.
“That’s what I had to figure out at 17,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“Don’t do this,” he said. “We have a life. A child. Please.”
“I had a right to know who I was choosing. You lied on day one. Everything after grew out of that lie.”
I went to our bedroom and pulled out a suitcase.
That time, I wasn’t a scared teenager.
My mom was silent, tears on her face.
I packed for myself and our son. Clothes. Important papers. His favorite stuffed dinosaur.
Our son was at a friend’s place.
On the drive over, I practiced what I’d say. “Hey, buddy, we’re going to stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a bit.”
He’d never even met them.
When I came back out with the suitcase, my husband looked wrecked. My mom was silent, tears on her face.
I set the suitcase by the door.
He was excited in the way only kids can be.
“I loved you,” I said to him. “More than was healthy. I gave up my family, my future, my education. I never regretted it. Not once. Because I thought you were honest with me.”
“I love you,” he choked.
“Love without truth is nothing.”
I walked out. I picked up our son.
Told him we were going on a “sleepover” at Grandma and Grandpa’s.
They apologized.
He was excited in the way only kids can be.
My parents opened the door, saw him, and both broke. My mother started sobbing. My dad grabbed the doorframe like he needed it to stand.
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