Zack sat with his head in his hands, repeating one phrase: “But I didn’t know.”
“I asked you five years ago to go to counseling,” I reminded him. “You said there was nothing wrong. That you were happy. But I wasn’t, and you never bothered to ask why.”
“Can we go now?” he asked, suddenly eager. “I’ll go. I’ll go to therapy.”
I smiled sadly. “Of course you will—now. Now that I’m leaving. But even now, you’re asking me to find the therapist, make the appointment, carry the weight again. You still expect me to do the emotional heavy lifting.”
His desperation filled the room like fog. “Please, Kelly. Just give me a chance to make you happy.”
I shook my head. “At any time in the last thirty years, I would have given anything to hear those words. But now, I feel…nothing. Just sadness. You didn’t lose me because you did something wrong. You lost me because you did nothing at all.”
A New Chapter Begins
The next day, I packed a few bags and moved into a sunlit apartment near Venice Beach. It was small, with creaky wooden floors and chipped paint on the windowsills—but it was mine. For the first time in years, I could hear my own thoughts.
I sold my car and started biking to work. I joined a dance class. I cut my long, dull hair into a short, sassy bob. I threw out the frumpy clothes I wore to make Zack comfortable and bought dresses I loved—floral prints, bright reds, bold jewelry.
My children were shocked.
Maybe I did. I felt younger. For the first time in decades, I was choosing me.
