For the first time in my life, I wasn’t waiting for his reaction.
I had already decided.
That afternoon, my mother walked into my office without an appointment.
She looked different.
Smaller.
Not physically—but like the air around her had thinned.
“Can we talk?” she asked quietly.
I nodded and closed the door.
She didn’t sit immediately.
She stood in front of my desk like she was bracing for impact.
“I want out,” she said.
The words hung there.
“Out of what?” I asked.
“Of the marriage,” she said. “Of all of it.”
I stared at her.
Richard and my mother had been married for forty-two years.
They weren’t affectionate. They weren’t gentle.
But they were constant.
“What changed?” I asked.
Her eyes filled.
“He crossed a line,” she said. “Not just with Amanda. With me.”
I didn’t understand.
She swallowed.
