All I'm left with are more questions.
But I think I'm done seeking answers; at this point, I have too much to think about and focus on.
Atlas and I are separated. We're not together anymore, bound only by the law and two adorable boys who deserve better than the version of us we became this last year.
And I have plans for my life.
First, get through these next twelve months, day by day, second by second.
Secondly, accumulate enough money from the job and save up spousal support. Child support goes right to the boys, new paints for Noah, basketball shoes for Liam. Whatever they need to support their interests.
Third, get the boys into therapy. Family therapy. Art therapy. Music therapy. Anything they need. I need to try to unpack what we messed up as parents. This will be good for us; we will heal together.
Finally, and most importantly, find Wendy again.
Go dancing with Taylor. Crochet a blanket. Go on a road trip to the beach by myself. Take hot bubble baths. Buy some new clothes. Treat myself without guilt. Spend time with my sons.
Live.
Chapter Sixteen
Wendy
"Are you guys going to get a divorce?"
Liam's words make me pause, my burger hovering halfway to my mouth.
We dropped Noah off at his art class, and I asked Liam if he wanted to get an early lunch after our grocery trip to Mabel's. I've adjusted our grocery shopping to Saturdays now since I've been working on Sundays.
Now, we're at Dina's Diner, where Liam sits across from me in this giant booth, eating eggs and pancakes the size of his head, drowning everything in syrup. I'm treating myself to a greasy burger and sweet potato fries, my happy meal.
My son’s face isn't stressed or panicked; in fact, he looks rather casual as he asks the question.
"I think so, Liam," I say quietly, studying his reaction. When he doesn't give one, I ask him, "How do you feel about that?"
He shrugs, shoveling more syrup-covered eggs into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully, staring down at his plate, before he huffs out a small breath.
"I don't know, Mama. Will anything be different?"
The question lands hard, and I wince, my appetite disappearing completely.
"I'm sorry, Liam."
He frowns, "For what?"
"For allowing this," I say, gesturing vaguely between us, to him, to the world, to everything that led us here. "For allowing your father to… treat you like this."
The guilt settles on my skin like it belongs there, and I thinkof my own childhood. My mother who went back and forth between yelling at me or ignoring me, even when I was right in front of her begging her to talk to me.
Then I feel ashamed that I’ve allowed my children to encounter the same treatment. Atlas never yelled at them, thankfully, but sometimes silence cuts even deeper.
"I've never told you about my mother, have I?"
Liam shakes his head. "No, I asked Dad once, but he just said not to ask about your parents unless you brought it up first..."
I didn't know about that. I had always thought about telling my sons about my parents, and figured I would do so when they were older and could understand.
Well, Liam is older and understands more than I wish he did.
